


Silver

by flight815kitsune



Series: silver verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Gen, Loki Redemption, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Other, Whump, sort of, things are complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 36,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flight815kitsune/pseuds/flight815kitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Thor saves Loki from the cells of Asgard, and Loki must decide what to do with such an opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alright. This is gonna be one of those loki-is-saved-and-joins-the-avengers things. I know it's been done before but i wanted to take it on. The idea happened forever ago and it kept growing and i kept procrastinating and i figured i'd better have it up before thor 2 comes out. 
> 
> i'll be adding tags when i update but im not sure if i should have this as chapters or a series?

It was quite the experience to be knocked around by the Hulk. To have your head cracked against the marble floors of Stark Tower. To have stars flash behind your eyes, the echoes of a thousand words in your mind, and the pain of battered flesh and a broken will overwhelm the bits of consciousness you have left.

To be back to nothing again.

The trial was a lie. His fate had been decided long before he had been brought back. No words he could say would have changed that. The official statement mentioned a very long stay in a cell. He was not foolish enough to think he had gotten off that easily.

As he had stood before them, he had not honored the show with his participation. He stood, silent, and stared at his feet. He would not face Odin’s disapproval, the stares of the court, Frigga’s sorrow, or Thor’s…he could not bring himself to guess what Thor’s reaction was, but he could feel his gaze upon him.

Pain was something he had learned to tolerate. It had been hard-earned through training and battles, through hunts gone wrong, through discipline. In his many years he had learned to move past it. It took a lot to kill a god. He had been beheaded and lived; these attempts to make him “see the light” through the use of physical discomfort would not kill him. It would, admittedly, be far from pleasant, but it would not be lethal.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. When he had lost everything, he had gone against Thor. He was a great many things but he was not a hypocrite. It was better to kill _all_ of those monsters. If anyone could kill a frost giant, it was Thor.

He had let go with the disapproving whisper of “No, Loki”. Death had been welcome. When he had plummeted through the nothingness, death would have been a release.

But he had lived.

And he had failed again.

They had forced him to lie to himself. You had to have heart for the Chitauri to warp it. It took your ideals and mangled them. It _lied_. A man who was nothing if not loyal would turn against his teammates. Scientists who wanted the best for mankind would bring about it’s end.

He had wanted to die. The throne had suited him ill. He longed for freedom.

They had made him speak of the virtues of obeying, of leading, of surviving.

They should pay for that.

Even if he was not the one to do it.

His clothes were removed. The manacles forced onto his wrists blocked his magic even more than those he had worn in court. He was limited to what he could pull from himself and unable to access the universe around him. Jailers came to his cell dressed in grey. It was a pair, always the same two. They beat him and cursed him and vented rage. They broke bones, bruised flesh, dislocated joints, and pulled hair. They scratched, bit, flogged, and fucked. They burned. They stitched some of the deeper wounds shut only to cut and stitch them again. They crushed toes and fingers, the fine bones no match for metal and stone.

Everything became a haze of pain and screaming.

The blade dove into his stomach. Silver slipped into red as though skin was butter. His first thought was of the quality of the knife. Strange how the mind works in these sorts of situations. It cut and tore upwards and his insides fell onto the floor with a sickening splat. There’s so much blood and of course they could kill him- who had suggested otherwise?

Back in his cell, stitched up and healing. His magic was only the faintest glimmer, everything he had he devoted to trying to repair the damage and dim the pain. He wouldn’t have enough to get out; he’d have to persevere until they let him go. He could be patient.

More of the same, day after day.

If they were really days. They certainly felt like days.

Things all sort of blurred together. This was life now. Wake, sometimes get cold water splashed on him to keep the stench of piss, sweat, blood, and shit to a minimum (this was not as bad as it could be, as it enabled him to steal a gulp here or there to quench his thirst), get dragged to punishment, be punished, have the needle and thread put him back together, try to heal, sleep. He had fallen through the void and lived. No matter how the things he had witnessed had torn at him, he was here now. That was what mattered. Plans could be made.

He had tried to fight them once he realized that they were doing far more harm than he could fix in a night with his weak excuse for magic. It may have been because of how limited he had become, that he never had a chance to fully repair, or that the level of damage was just too high. He had struggled against them, twisting and yelling. He tried to produce enough of a spark to burn them, freeze them. Something. Anything. It hadn’t worked. All he got out of it was skewers dipped in hot oil pushed underneath his fingernails. Then the guards had held them with metal pliers. They came off with a little twisting. The consuming agony of his hands left him unable to even make a token effort at healing for days.

They didn’t even have to cut skin anymore. Just threads. There was fire and ice and salt. They choked him until the world went hazy, but not enough to put him fully out. They didn’t like it when he was out. He wasn’t as entertaining then. They kept him on that level of pain until he vomited up bile.

They blamed him for every lie, every misfortune that they had ever suffered. Some of the accusations were true. He had made the mistake of smiling at that the first time they had stumbled upon the truth. He hadn’t repeated that mistake.

What would it take to put him over the edge?

Screaming turned to begging turned to silence.

Repeat. Every day.

The void seemed kind in comparison.

Fractured thoughts in his mind as they toss him onto the cold floor of his cell. The desire not to die here, in this place. Not like this. A prince deserved to die better than this, even if he was a prince of monsters.

His magic was only able to slow the bleeding. He couldn’t even make it stop anymore. No attempts at resistance- that mistake was not to be duplicated, no healing, no attempts at relief.

He began to laugh when they took him.

Days. Days. Days.

He was taken still bloody from the night before.

His heart starts to hurt. The center of his being, the source of life and magic consumed with a constant ache.

They made another cut to the skin of his thigh. They hadn’t needed to; there were plenty to choose from. One of them slid his fingertips inside, underneath his skin. He pressed forward between skin and muscle like one does when getting the pelt off of a small animal. Far enough to see his hand through one of the other slits. It would probably go if he tugged.

He was thrown back in the damp and cold.

A pitiful noise escaped him.

He sobbed, even though it just made everything worse. It made bruised (broken?) ribs send lightning to his mind. Cramps in his abdomen only made him retch onto the floor. He smashed his fists against the unyielding floor in a worthless show of frustration. Stars erupted behind his eyes. Wounds broke open to weep fresh liquid.

Days.

So much red. Everything else in monochrome.

Days.

Even the glamour was abandoning him, leaving him blue around the edges.

They didn’t seem to know how to view such a thing. They had first attributed it to another act of rebellion. Then they had attributed it to blended bloodlines. If the kingdom knew of his true parentage, these individuals had missed that announcement. The reasons they had supplied had not mattered, they did not like the markings showing through. Even crueler words, then.

How long ago had he broken?

Days.

When the blackness no longer left the edges of his sight, the red didn’t seem so bad.

He was on the floor. They were done with him for the day. He turned to the side as he coughed. Blood edged his mouth and tinted his teeth from cuts to his tongue and cheek from the repeated blows to the face. He was too tired to even lift his head to spit properly. He could only let the mixture of blood and saliva drain from the corner of his mouth. He did what he had done before when in a bad place, he sent out a plea with what had to be every fiber of his being. “Thor…”

 It echoed in his skull and against the stone around him.

Unlike years past, there were no confident words cried across a battlefield. There was only the quiet.

One week, maybe?

He was taken. A piece of metal had been whipped across his thighs. They hadn’t done that in awhile. Every injury was open from the damage inflicted yesterday. Bodily fluids rolled down his legs, cum and blood and sweat. Dirt, blood, and dried vomit marked his face, streaks in the layer of filth revealed the paths of stay tears.

Disgusting. Pitiful. Was he screaming, crying, silent? It hadn’t mattered anymore. He existed in this place until they saw fit to grant him death.

A red-hot iron seared a new mark onto his left arm. It poked into flesh where the dagger had already gone.

It moved to the soles of his feet.

The smell of burning flesh was far from pleasant.

He was once again dragged the distance from dungeon to cell. They were talking. Laughing. Loki fell to the floor. One of them had let go and without that support he had crumpled.

Noises came from the guard’s direction. Those didn’t matter. The words didn’t matter. Ignored, they would stop in a minute. One had to take a token attempt at getting up, before they started to kick. One had to lay motionless and hope to be grabbed again.

They don’t and it was _wrong_. Panic flared up. Loki forced himself to look.

Still so much red, but not monochrome. A blur of silver-blue and gold. He was silent, staring.

“Brother…” the sorrow sunk his word like lead and that damned pity was never so welcome.

It took forever to form the words. “As lovely as this place is, I would rather not stay.” The voice was more of a croak than anything. Perhaps he had been screaming, then.

“You should not be moved.”

“I am not known as one who does what they should.” He tried to get up again.

Thor’s fingertips barely touched his ribs, arms, shoulders. He didn’t know where to start.

“Unless you plan on letting me hang by my left ankle, you _will_ have to get blood on your hands.” He tried to put attitude into it, but it only tinted the words. It wasn’t as self-assured as it had to be.

Thor caved. He threw his cape over his brother, trying to wrap him in it and not really succeeding. Thor lifted him and the brunette offered no protest as he was positioned on the other man’s back. The world spun around him.

Conditioning had him tired and longing for sleep, regardless of pain, noise, or unfamiliarity. The fact that this reminded him of late parties and fights oh-so-long-ago, where everything was bad and then Thor would be there- a big blonde rock in the middle of the chaos- was not helping.

 “Do you know of a path to Midgard?” It was a quiet question.

They would leave this place. Once they were with the mortals he would be handed over to the authorities and, eventually, back to this. It was a moment of pity granted by a fool. It was a short reprieve to lick his wounds, a break until Thor returned to his senses, and that was all. It was worth it. Anything to not be here. He found himself giving directions to one of the hidden routes to travel the universe.

“It will take you where you want to go, through a reflection.” He was fighting sleep and losing. His eyes refused to open. His mouth had always been the strongest part of himself, though, and kept going. “You need focus.”

Sleep won.


	2. Chapter 2

The months since Loki’s trial had passed quickly. He was to be lashed, and given one year of being caged for every mortal killed. By the time his sentence was fulfilled all of the mortals involved, their children, and their children’s children would be dead.

Thor was disappointed in the punishment, it hadn’t seemed strong enough. Loki had nearly destroyed Earth, to say nothing of the attack against Jotunheim. He would likely study for the entirety of it and still manage to talk his way into reduced time after a few hundred years. But he still had hope for his brother that outweighed his sense of vengeance. If it took lifetimes for Loki to see the error of his ways, then that was enough.

Even at the trial, Loki had sneered and refused to look at his family. Had it not been public, he would have demanded Loki meet his gaze. Hopefully time alone would teach him that his family deserved his attention.

One morning, when he was preparing coffee for Jane, he thought he heard his brother call his name. He had written it off as a daydream. It was his mind playing tricks because of a lack of villains as of late. But the realness of it bothered him. something about it demanded he look further, and he managed to break away from the other members of his team. It took a few days to ensure that he would not be required to defend the city, but his brother was not going anywhere. He used the bifrost, though it was still in need of repair it was usable. Completely chaotic, with Heimdall struggling to direct a team of inexperienced worker in repairs, but usable. He avoided the familiar places; he had something to figure out, and knew he would get distracted should he be called to another task.

Loki was not in his room. That was unexpected, but understandable. It had not been long. Give it more time, and it would be the first concession he would be granted.

Thor wandered down to the cells below. He passed others, whom he stared at through the often-barred cell windows. There were enchantments to keep them in, and many sentences were nowhere near as long as what Loki had recieved. This did not mean that they were less dangerous, merely that the circumstances and charges were different. Those whoose crimes were severe enough could be punished with anything up to ind including execution.

Such things were not an everyday occurance, but these things happened when ruling a realm.

When he turned the corner and saw two men dragging what appeared to be a corpse, he decided to ask for their assistance in visiting his brother. He followed them with the intention of waiting until they had finished their business. For all his size, he could tread lightly when he had to. They were snickering to each other about tomorrow.  About how happy they were that Odin had turned a blind eye to what happeed in the cells.

That was... unnerving. Justice was one thing, cruelty another. This had to be addressed.

He closed the gap and noticed that the body was not dead. The wounds leaked red and rough breaths made it shake. A blue had taken over the color of long limbs, with markings nearly indistinguishable from injuries. The dark head of hair stared at the ground.

Lithe frames and dark hair were not the most common features in Asgard. The tone of Frost Giant blue was even rarer, though he had not seen it on this canvas before. “Brother?” The word is a whisper, but the guard turned. Thor watched as Loki fell to the ground like a rag doll.

The sibling instinct to _defend_ took over. It was the need to protect ingrained over long years of childhood though called on so sparingly. He hadn't realized he was throwing the punch until his knuckles connected with the other man's jaw. When he hit the ground, he was still. His companion had charged at him. Thor stepped to the side  and his cape billowed like that of a matador. His mouth twisted up in challenge and the guard tried his luck again. A few blows to the throat and kidneys had him out of comission as well. He carried and threw them into a vacant cell, savoring the click of the lock.

Loki pushed one arm beneath himself, but the angle of the limb was all wrong. Broken, twisted. He fell back before he even rose. He met Loki's gaze. The expression on his brother's face was a carefully made mask of neutrality. His eyes were dark, reddish brown, the color of coagulating blood rather than the pale tone he had become so used to. Even such a change could not fuly hide the weariness and pain of their owner. "Brother..."

There was a mockery of a smile when Loki finally responded “As lovely as this place is, I would rather not stay.”

Such a tone would have made him laugh, once. Now, it only served to provide a contrast to how hurt Loki _was_. He needed to get him away. Somewhere safe, and if what those guards had been saying was true, then Asgard was no longer secure for it’s own prince. Odin had known and done nothing.

He needed medical treatment immediately. “You should not be moved.”

“I am not known as one who does what they should.” Loki tried to rise again, only fall as before. He would hurt himself worse if he continued.

It would be better to help him than to let him struggle. But he couldn’t.Everywhere that he would usually touch, every hold he would use to support or carry is cut, bruised, burnt, broken, covered in stitches, or all of the above.

“Unless you plan on letting me hang by my left ankle, you _will_ have to get blood on your hands.”

He wants to scream at his brother then, for even suggesting such a thing would be what bothered him. That he was more worried for some sense of pride or honor than for the well being of his brother. That the blood wasn’t already on his hands for bringing him here in the first place.

Loki needed to be covered, protected. He could not stand carrying his brother out in such a horrible state. He was too exposed. He unclipped his cape and wrapped it around the thin form. If Loki noticed his fingers resting too long at the racing pulse in his neck, he didn’t draw attention to it. He decided to carry Loki on his back. He would face whoever tried to approach them, one more barrier between his baby brother and the world. The cape didn’t cover him, but Loki made no protest at being against the cold, hard armor. The lack of complaint, the absence of criticism while he could not be comfortable was quickly becoming worrying. He weighed far less than Thor remembered, even if Loki had had his full weight Thor would have bore it gladly, but Loki was always the wrong proportions for this kind of thing. The long arms laced shaking fingers in front of him. The chain linking them dangled down like some sick necklace.

He felt his brother’s head rest on his shoulder. He could feel the sigh of someone completely exhausted, then the uneven breaths. Every time the exhale took too long, fear raised it’s ugly head. He wished that Loki would argue. That he would throw a verbal jab at him. Even his brother spewing hateful things would be better than the Liesmith being silent.

He would keep him in the only other safe place he knew of. “Do you know of a path to Midgard?”

Of course he does, he knows many things. Thor just needed his brother to supply the information before it could not be spoken.

He wouldn’t want to share his secrets. There should have been a pause as he considered it. The fact that there wasn’t, that he did not even question his idea, was just another red flag. Loki always questioned his ideas. The words came slower, softer as the directions were given, they blended together but did not completely cease.

The portal still buzzed with old magic.

“It will take you” the words blended into a meaningless flutter of lips. “reflection.” These are more sigh than speech. “focus.”

Focus was nothing. The only goal was to take his brother to his other home. To get him away from this and get him well. He had seen his brother step from large mirrors; surely he could do the same.

When he exited the full length mirror in his room, the lights came on.

“I did not demand more light!” 

“Sorry, sir. Shall I inform the others that you have a guest?” The lights dimmed.

“No!" It was as though he was trying to sneak a pet into the palace as a child. "Let Anthony know I wish to see him once he has risen.”

He lowered Loki to the bed and started pacing.

This was horribly confusing.

Had his father truly allowed such a thing? Had _mother_? 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he was not prepared for this yet.

“Thor? JARVIS said you needed something?”

“Anthony. I was not expecting you so promptly.” He entered the living room and tried to close the door behind himself.

“You okay there? You seem to have some blood… I thought you were in Asgard?”

“I beseech you to grant me a favor.” The words were just short of pleading.

“What is it?” 

“I require your help concerning my brother.”

“What kind of help?” It was not a denial. That was good.

“You must swear that you will listen.”

Tony sighed. “You asked for me. I’ll listen.”

“I have helped my brother to be free from Asgard. They have tormented him, and I know not for how long. I fear for his life. Never have I seen him so weak.”

“If this is about justice, a strong moral compass was never my thing. You’d be better off asking Cap about that. So, is that the blood of evil captor #3?”

“This blood is his. His captors are detained, but I have not yet wrought my full vengeance upon them.” The way he gripped Mjölnir, pure hate playing across his features, was the stuff of nightmares.

It didn’t faze Tony. “You fear for his life? How badly does one of you guys need to be hurt for that to happen? I’ve seen you take some damage, and he had some one on one time with the Hulk.”

“My brother’s magic, it is not doing as it should.”

Tony tapped his fingers on his chest. “Does he need a doctor? We have monitors and stuff in the testing phases, but most of my medical things got left in Malibu. Honestly, Bruce would be your best bet for something like that.”

“I believe he needs rest, food, and time for his magic to return to its former strength. I want him to be removed from his bonds. I suspect they work against him.”

“What kind of bonds are we talking about?”

“His hands are shackled.”

“With what?”

“Shackles.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lemme rephrase that. What are they made of?”

“I…know not their composition.”

“Can you show me?”

Thor’s hesitancy was written all over him.

Tony let the drumming fingers rest over his heart. “You guys do the whole honor and oaths thing, right? I, Tony Stark, swear that I won’t attack the super villain that my teammate has brought into my house, without my knowledge or permission by the way, and will give him a place to stay and food and extra pillows and whatever the hell his brother the aforementioned teammate thinks that the guy needs, at least for today though likely for an indefinite time until he tries to kill all of us in creative ways  in an act of evil or escapes to cause chaos elsewhere or whatever because I am feeling very stupid at the moment but am not entirely against helping the guy. More so if it means I don’t keep said super villain here for longer than necessary. Since it’s not going to end well for me if I try to fight you on this, even if it is my house, I figure I should just go with the flow. Plus, heroic motivation. That’s always a crowd pleaser, right? Happy, Thor? Let me in.”  He took his hand from its position over his heart and gestured to the door.

 Thor pulled him into a crushing hug. “Thank you.”

Tony got the cuffs off, picking the lock with skill that had to have resulted from experience. He was clearly trying not to stare and failing miserably. "Adopted."

"Yes."

He took the cuffs with him when he left.

Thor was left alone, trying to figure out what, exactly, he was supposed to do.


	3. Chapter 3

The world returned slowly. He could feel the buzz, the faint energy of the realm around him. There was the barest hint of magic prickling under his skin. He routed it to where it was most needed. He started to stretch and automatically regretted it. Panic seized his heart and stole his breath when he couldn’t move. He was tangled up in cloth. Cloth was not bad. Cloth had the potential to be very good. We took a slow breath as he tried to remain perfectly still and waited for his tired mind to process the situation. Thor had brought him to Earth. He forced his eyes to open.

The light was blinding and they snapped shut while a hiss escaped his teeth.

Once the spots stopped dancing behind his eyelids, he tried to take in his surroundings again. The white of the sun reflected off of the pale walls and ceiling. It seemed like the entirety of his peripheral vision was filled with red. He was tangled in his brother’s cape. He’d have to use magic to get the stains out; that could wait. Right now there was enough to stop bleeding and numb the pain. He wanted to cover his face with his hands and scream, but that would not be productive and would likely only wake Thor, whose snoring could be heard from his current location. His arms felt too heavy to attempt such a task, anyway.

For Thor to be snoring, it had to be early in the morning. Convinced that fighting his tiredness was pointless, Loki allowed himself to fall back asleep.

 

He awoke again what had to be hours later. The room was terribly quiet. The room was large. The décor was impersonal, generic. Only a few things on the walls seemed to hint that Thor was connected to this place. A jug of water sat on the foot of the bed alongside boxes of mortal food. He wanted it so badly. His throat demanded it, his stomach desperately begged for it.

He couldn’t sit up. He was some mixture of broken, stiff and numb that was not very conducive to the whole idea. It was like having Mjölnir on his chest again. He could do little else besides breathe.

 So he took advantage of that and laughed.

What a position he had found himself in. He lied there in silence, dizzy and nauseous.

He just tried to let the magic do it’s work. He wasn’t going to ask for help.

The door to the room swung open, no warning.

Tony Stark stood there. “Good morning. Evening. Whatever.” Walked in with a cup in one hand and his cuffs in the other. Ah.  Those would come back. Loki stared at them. “Can you talk?”

“I can.” Still eyed the chains.

“You sound better than you look, but that’s not saying much. You look like hell.”

“Your myths claim I am her father, you know.”

Stark smiled at this, “I know you understand the expression. You get people.” He walked to the end of the bed and exchanged the shackles for the jug. “This wasn’t what I meant when I offered you a drink, but I figure this looks about as good right now.” He clicked the cap off and poured the glass. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you need help, since your arms still look…busted.”

“Observant as always.”

“From you, that’s almost a compliment.”

The water was warm, stale with a faint taste of chemicals. He downed it. Compared to nothing, it was amazing. He could have drank the whole thing and been pleased with that. He needed it.

“You hungry?” Stark asks. He was watching him as though he was a particularly interesting insect.

“Yes.” He managed to hide all sense of gratitude from his voice.

Stark’s attention moved to the boxes. “Thor left you Pop-tarts. Those work or should I look for something else?”

“I am sure they will be fine.” He rolled his eyes. He had to test how much respect Stark expected of him.

Stark ignored it.

“I always pictured you with more sophisticated tastes. When’s the last time you ate?” He asked as he opened the packaging.

“I cannot say for certain.”

“I won’t be able to give you much, then. You’ll just get sick.” He broke one of the rectangles in half.

“I understand.”

Stark awkwardly held it up to his mouth.He took a bite and almost spat it back out, but it was food and he would tolerate it if he had to.

Stark must have noticed the look of disgust, because he asks “You don’t like it?”

“I have had to consume worse.”

“I’d like to throw something out there, and this is just a suggestion, how about some oatmeal? I think it still might be too sugary, because the only stuff we get has cinnamon or apples or maple syrup, but it won’t be as strong as this junk. These things are too…”

“Thor. Loud, one-dimensional, bright and sickeningly sweet.” The words rolled off his tongue. Of course the blonde would like them.

Stark gave him the chuckle he was aiming for. “That’s one way to put it, I guess. Be right back.”

There’s running water, the sound of cabinets and a beep.

He returned with a steaming bowl. “I hope you like it thick. The package doesn’t know what it’s talking about when it comes to measurements.”

 “I like being neither hungry nor violently ill. I am simply hoping that I can stomach it.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t remember, huh?”

“I have some idea.”

“How long?”

“I don’t need food like a mortal. It’s pleasant and it helps me keep my body and magic in good condition.”

“So you don’t need it. That doesn’t answer the question.”

“You are not to tell Thor. I already fear he will do something foolish.” He already seems to have done something foolish, it was time for damage control.

“Got it.”

“…I ate an apple the morning of my trial.”

Stark stared. “You’re right. That was a long time ago.”

For two very vocal people, the silences between them are far too common. “How long ago? The days…tended to escape me.”

“In earthling time?” he did the math in his head. “From the day of the trial until Thor picked you up? One year, four months, and seven days.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” And that look, as though he were some specimen to be viewed under glass, returned to Stark’s face.

 If trying to feed him a Pop-Tart was awkward, the oatmeal was a thousand times worse. With the oatmeal, Stark was required to hold the spoon as though he was feeding an infant. More water was offered as the bowl was placed to the side. He kept catching Stark studying him.

“You want cleaned up?”

That was not a question he had expected. “Why are you doing this?”

“I am one of the good guys. We’re supposed to do all this stuff. It’s part of the rules or whatever. Besides, I want some information on these-" He held up the cuffs. “What are they made of, what energy are they putting out, why did they make one scanner give no results and another explode.” He paused to shake his head. “ Explode isn’t the right word, I’ve made things explode. Why they made one scanner pop and then smoke heavily.”

He stared at them again. It wasn’t fear, it was a healthy respect. “I cannot help you.” It was the truth. They had not been forged on Asgard, and the charms engraved into them were only vaguely familiar at best. Perhaps they were from Svartálfaheim? The dwarves _did_ know how to hold a grudge.

“In that case, we’ll just go with the whole I’m-a-superhero thing.”

“You understand my reluctance to believe in the best nature of my supposed saviors.”

He gets a strange look, then. A smirk. “Yeah. I can.”

He was tired already. “You can go. I will have Thor assist me.”

“Alright.”

“Stark?”

“Yeah?” He paused on the way out

“I do appreciate your thoughtfulness.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tony passed Thor on his way to his workshop. “Hey. Question. “

“Yes, Anthony?”

“What color are your brother’s eyes?”

“I…” his brow furrows. “Green?”

Tony pouts.  He laced his fingers behind his head and walked towards the elevator.

 

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Give me all the footage you can get a hold of from when Loki came here last time. Color video only. ”

 

It felt like his eyes had barely closed before Thor came back. The first words out of his mouth are “Apologies, brother! I have made things most difficult for you in my absence. The Man of Iron has made you comfortable, I hope?”

“I feel disgusting, Thor. No one should see me in this condition.” He was dirty, still so tired, nauseous from that small bit of food, and while his magic deadened the pain, he still knew it was there and that kept him on edge.

The hurt on Thor’s face at that is terrible.

“You are the exception to the rule. You have seen me in a poor state before. But I will not have all of your mortals see me like this. One was too many.” Thor's actions didn't make sense. Stark's actions didn't make sense. If he was to remain here for any length of time, if he was to be paraded before Thor's other allies, the least Thor could do is leave him with some dignity.

Thor smiles. “Anthony is a good man. He will not speak of it.”

“Please." The word tasted like ash. "Do not make me face him like this again.”

Thor brought back a cloth and a large silver soup pot filled with soapy water. He started with his brother’s hands. His brow furrowed when he noticed the missing nails. It was a cruel thing, to damage the hands on of who relied on them for their craft. It was the desecration of a weapon and a physical wound in one. While the proper tone had returned to long fingers and the bruising had been quick to fade, nails were not a priority. They could wait until other injuries had been handled. He moved up sliced arms, tried not to disturb any of the scabs. He barely touched Loki’s chest. He only catalogued the bruises, the cuts, the burns, and frowned at the long line of stitches. He wiped the dirt from pointed features and Loki didn’t even bother to open his eyes. Such a show of trust after he had allowed his brother to suffer such a fate made shame coil in the pit of his stomach. He rubbed away the filth, constantly dipping the towel in the water. He paused at the hairline, that task would be left for another day. Back down to the throat, and there were clear marks from individual fingers. Purple, red, green, and yellow were a clear contrast to the light skin surrounding them. Drops fall down his stomach. The cloth hovered just below his bellybutton. Loki gulped. He had not planned for this. They had grabbed, scratched, threatened to remove. Thor said nothing, and that was a blessing. He moved down thighs to damaged knees. His touch skated over a broken leg to feet that had been burned. Toes that had been crushed. Every inch covered only makes Thor grip the cloth tighter. The anger in his eyes was laced with a fierce protectiveness. Thor cared. After everything, he cared. “I need to turn you.”

“I do not think I could stop you if I chose to do so.” It was an attempt to relieve some of the tension. It did not work as well as he had hoped.

Thor made a muffed sound. A high pitched choke that tore at one’s heart.

The blonde was far too emotional for his own good. Loki huffed an annoyed sigh. “You cause me no pain, Thor. I have enough magic for that. Recall that I asked this of you. Do what you must.”

Thor turned his brother over onto blank bed. The cape was cast to the floor. Loki’s arms were folded close to his chest. The bone in his right upper arm was definitely broken, but he could do nothing for it yet. A pillow supported Loki’s head as he stared at the other side of the room. Thor started with arms and moved to shoulders. His back was a tattered ruin. A lattice of cuts from the whip that was nearly impossible to clean without breaking more open. The cloth moved to his feet again. It was easier to reach the scorched soles this time. Thor moved up those long legs again, and Loki is happy he doesn’t have to see the look on his face from this position.

When he was wiping away blood and other men’s dried seed from his brother’s thighs and buttocks, he stopped a great number of times so that he wouldn’t lash out. Steve would be an unfortunate victim during their next training session.

“Brother…” His voice cracked as a king’s never should.

If Thor kept doing this, he would shatter, and there was no room for that. “Tell me of what I have missed. What foes have you faced?”

Thor’s voice danced as he spoke of his friends and enemies. This was familiar. This was nice. Loki slept.

 

It was a terrible position to be in. While everything desperately needed sleep to recover, dreams had started to weave their way in every time he shut his eyes.

Fragments of memories, scenes that had played out before were revisited. The endless darkness of the void crawling. His skin turning blue and a hypothesis proven true. The whisper of a guard in his ear. The cold emptiness with the sounds of the chitauri underneath it all.

He was wrapped in sheets when he awoke, still on his stomach on the bed. Thor was gone again. Loki tried to move and only ended up on his side. The bone shifted in his arm. Agony. 

The stream of profanity helps.

“Sir?” The room questioned.

“Get me Stark.” He hissed through his teeth. The bone needed to be set, and Thor would not be as willing.

He focused his magic in his other hand. It was stronger than the day before. He could heal one bone and still be in some semblance of comfort until he fell asleep again.

Stark knocked once before letting himself in.  “Ugh. Why is it so bright in here? Shut the blinds, JARVIS.” It does, and it wasn’t that much of a difference, honestly. “You know Thor’s in the training room, right? You could have just called for him.”

“While I do not doubt he would aid me, I would rather not suffer his expression.”

“Right. What did you need me for?”

“A drink, and a hand.”

“Okay.”

“Take my hand.” He complied, the grip sure. “Now pull and twist to your left.”

“What?” He dropped him like a hot potato.

“The bone needs to get back into position.” Loki held out his other hand, the green haze around it.

“I may have sworn to your brother that I wouldn’t hurt you, until you acted all villainous again.”

 “Stark.”

“You sure you wouldn’t rather have you know, a doctor? Because Bruce has nothing better to do. Probably.”

“I have enough magic to either fix my arm or curse you. Choose which one you prefer, I am feeling impatient.” It was a lie. He wouldn’t be able to do much to Stark. Maybe enough of a spark to ruin that damned goatee.

“All right. Let’s do this.” Picked up his hand again. “Ready?”

Nodded.

Pulled and twisted and magic healed it into place.

He flexed his hand, buried his face in it and shook.

Stark leaned in close. “You okay there, magic man?”

Able to shoot a glare from between his fingers. “I would like very much to punch you in the face.”

“This may come as a shock to you, but you are not the first person to tell me that. And yours actually seems justified, which has got to count from something. Okay, maybe some of the other times were also justified.”

“Remind me to act on that impulse before you give me over to whichever authorities I am planned to be given to.”

Stark stared again. “You think Thor’s planning on handing you over?” He rubbed his mouth.

“I still have time to serve. He knows this.” He was stupid enough to rush into Asgard and free a convict, surely he didn't think no one would ignore such an act of treason.

“He was worried you were going to die.”

“That was a… legitimate concern.” Thor didn't comprehend what he had done, surely once he realized his error he would act like the leader he was raised to be...

“None of the ideas he’s tossed out to me have involved taking you back.”

It was too quiet.

“You need anything else?”

“Give me a moment. I am arguing with myself on whether trying to set my leg is a good idea.” He measured his magic again. “No.” Best to devote it to internal injuries. “Water. Something to occupy my time until I can move.”

He rolled onto his back. 

The room was cool, but the sheets clung to him.

    

 

It was cold. The screeching was costant, like insects in the height of summer.

He woke to bright light and a shake to his shoulder.

"You need to eat if you wish to regain your tricks."

"I am fine." He snapped. 

“I have seen you put Volstagg to shame, and yet now you partake of less than I would give a bird. Please. It burdens me to see you so weary.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I glance away and you fall into troubled slumber. With something in your stomach, you may rest more deeply.”

Those terrible excuses for food were far too sweet, but he choked two down. Thor happily ate two boxes.

“You are looking better, brother.” Thor smiled, and it was almost easy to forget everything that had happened.

“I am making progress.”

Thor again told him tales of vanquished foes and trusted allies until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should continue updating this pretty frequently, I'm trying to just proofread and put it up at this point.


	5. Chapter 5

His magic was thrumming. He felt like a person again. The sugar must have done some good.

His first target was his stomach. He made sure everything was where it needed to be, repaired muscle tissue, fixed blood vessels, and healed the skin forced together by the stitches.

It took time and energy, but the only thing left to do was to remove the thread.

He stared at the ceiling. “Servant. Where is Stark?”

“He is doing an event for charity. Shall I message him?”

“No. Where is my brother?”

“He is having lunch with Captain Rogers.”

“Who is here?”

“Dr. Banner is exiting the laboratory.”

“Has Thor spoken to him about me yet?”

“I do not have data on that.”

“Oh.”

He decided that the other injuries on his chest may as well get more attention and started to heal them. The stitches were itching terribly, but there was no way to remove them yet.

“I don’t suppose you can supply me with music, servant?”

“What are your preferences?”

“What would be fitting for a person of culture?”

The sounds of rich classical music filled the room.

“Stark’s technology can be rather nice.” He said it to himself.

“Thank you, sir.”

He turned his attention to bruises. His throat was first. If Thor had been upset about them, they must be extensive.

Two ribs were cracked; the others were just badly bruised. His touch traveled lower. May as well fix all of the bruising.

Handled his abused cock.

The door opened and why does no one knock in this place?

Banner. “Thor, is there something you’d like to-" He held up the chains. He paused and nodded as he took in the scene. Stared. His eyes traveled. He turned on his heel and exited.

Why?

There was a knock at the door after a long moment. Loki covered himself. “Yes?”

The door cracked. “I guess I answered my own question. You, uh, broke out?”

“Thor retrieved me.”

“So…you had time to kill?” There was a smile there.

“I was healing myself.”

“Right. That’s entirely what it looked like.”

“I would not… this is Thor’s bed.” A hint of confusion tinted his words.

“It’s not like you’re blood relatives.”

And that hurt more than it should to hear another person say that.

“He’s not bad looking, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

This was not the sort of conversation he had expected from any of Thor’s allies. If he had enough energy, he would teleport away.

Banner’s expression shifted into something familiar. The crinkle at the edges of his eyes, the way his head tilted just so. It was the look of mischief.

“Sorry. I wanted to see how you’d react. You aren’t looking too good. How long have they been hiding you?”

“A few days.”

He had the nerve to whistle. “You must have looked like hell if you heal like Thor.”

“Stark said something to that effect, yes.”

He was staring. “Are those stitches?”

“Yes.”

“They itch?”

“No.”

It was a lie, and the doctor knew it. His lips quirked up only at their edges.“I could take them out?”

“I would not be averse to the idea.”

“Right.” He went to Thor’s tiled bath.

It should have been more uncomfortable than this. Thor should have taken him back. Or hidden him elsewhere. Or his friends should be trying to kill and not help. Superheroes or not, there was a history going unacknowledged and it made no sense.

Banner pulled scissors and tweezers from behind a mirror, and Loki tried to tell himself that there was not anything green about his reflection.

Banner seemed to lose confidence the closer he got to the bed.

That was…interesting. That could be manipulated.

“Where am I starting?” Banner was calm, in a professional mode.

Loki just raised one arm. It was a mess.

You could see the debate in Banner’s head about whether to climb into the bed. He must have settled for yes. He doesn’t take up as much space as Stark. He shrinks into himself like he doesn’t belong, while Stark had acted like it was his space to begin with.

It was technically his space to begin with, but that was beside the point.

He was lighter. He barely moved the springs. If one didn’t know the secret he hid, it would be very easy to think of him as helpless.

“More light, please?”

His words weren’t exact or demanding like Stark’s, but it obeyed them just the same.

His hands were soft. He had none of the hesitance that Thor had. He cut and pulled like he did it every day. He handles the few injuries on that side. A small pile of loose thread pieces was collected.

Banner cut the ones forming a line down his stomach. “I have to admit, this was not something I expected to do when I got up this morning.”

He couldn’t watch, only feel as the scissors trace lower.

“You don’t like stitches.” Ah. Banner was trying to make conversation. He was curious. He could indulge that a little.

“I don’t like the memories that come with them.” It was a blessing and a curse that they hadn’t stitched his lips together this time.

He felt a soft breath across his skin when the first thread was pulled. “This was…deep.”

Concerned.

Banner was watching him. “Is it weird that I thought the marks would heal automatically?”

“If my attention was not focused elsewhere, they would.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed

“You would be interested in viewing such a thing?” He could show off. The awe of someone unused to such a display could be a nice ego boost, and it wouldn’t take much magic to do something so simple.

“Where else is it focused?”

A quick internal inventory. “My knees. My ribs are still knitting, but I’m not directing any more than necessary there. My back would be improved by some attention, though it’s not a concern compared to other places. Some of the bruises need more work.” A gesture with his hand. “And my leg isn’t in the right position yet for that bone to mend. That will be waiting until my knees have healed.”

Banner watched again. A hint of respect was there. He got a small smile. “You weren’t lying when you said you were healing yourself.” Some small piece of the tension he carries in his shoulders seemed to vanish, then.

“You doubted the God of Lies? You might be smarter than Stark.” He said it easily.

Banner did not take it so. “Tony is strange about who he trusts. One monster to another- we ruined his floors before. Give him a reason to regret this and I will repeat the experience.”

Loki tried to ignore the flash of green he swore he saw in the good doctor’s eyes. “I doubt my stay will end in any unpleasantness. As entertaining company as you are, I do have a sentence to finish.”

“You’re going back?”

“You as well? Thor is a believer in justice. I am not under the illusion of this being anything other than temporary.”

Banner wore the same look that Thor had. Pity.

One person was an anomaly; two were a pattern beginning to form.

“I take it you can see yourself out?”

He left without protest, throwing the threads in the trash on his way out.

They didn't make sense.


	6. Chapter 6

Thor was in bed with him. It was Thor’s bed. It shouldn’t have been surprising he would claim it back eventually. He was curled up on his side, and Thor’s back was pressed against his. A thin sheet was the only thing separating them. It was warm and it felt like excursions out into the wilderness an eternity ago. Thor would be facing a fire he had made. A flame with a spark of magic to keep the smoke down. Thor had gotten cold when he never did, then. It was something he could tease him about. It was one thing he was better at. It should have been a warning sign. Instead he had used it to gloat. They would lie back to back, and he would be able to guard his brother. Thor would stretch when he slept, and Loki had gotten more than one elbow to the head. He had also woken up more times than he cared to admit clutched to Thor’s chest. But every time Thor said he was cold, he’d go along with it. He would be the one to be needed. He’d light the fire, give him the fur. He would sit off to the side, perfectly comfortable, listening to the sounds of the woods and winds for any sign of a threat. When he was unable to find anything, and had set up a few traps nearby, he would relax.  Thor would watch him while huddled under the soft pelts. Eventually he would give in to his brother’s demands and join him in the warmth.

It was calm, something rarely seen when Thor was anywhere in the immediate vicinity. He liked those moments.

But that was before he knew that everything to do with him was a lie.

That he had been lying since before he could speak.

That he was a monster.

That there was no place for him.

It was before the fall, where no thought and every thought traveled through his mind, when all the emptiness came crashing in.

It was before he had clung to his saviors and let himself be told that Earth wouldn’t be so bad as a kingdom. That he could carve out a place if fate had given him none.

It was before he failed.

It was before he had started his sentence.

It was before Thor had done something so incredibly stupid for a man he still called brother.

It was Before.

Thor’s elbow jammed into his back with a mumbled apology from years past.

Loki tried to tell himself that the pain in his chest were from the fall, from his punishments, from stressed magic. That he hadn’t moved because everything was still so numb.

Lies could be so much easier than the truth.

 

Stark sat on the edge of his bed, having brought more food and water. It was taking too long to heal. He didn’t want to go, exactly, but he didn’t want to remain here, either.

The other man’s company was a nice break from the attempt at exploring the technology he had to resort to when left alone.

“You’re looking slightly better. Still terrible, but better.”

“Your compliments are overwhelming,”

It was quiet for a while.

Tony broke the silence. “So, what do you like to eat? Because as appetizing as I’m sure this is, one of the benefits of having money is getting what you want, and I share the wealth.”

“This is fine.”

“Yeah, no. You see, I didn’t ask what was fine. I asked what you wanted. You like cheeseburgers? Donuts? Sushi?”

“I haven’t had the chance to sample the options available on Midgard.”

“Now that is just unacceptable. You will be introduced to the best food we have to offer.”

Stark returned perhaps an hour later with what seemed to be a bit of everything he could carry.

Lasagna was delicious. Kung Pao chicken, not so much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for how short this one is. I'm trying to divide it fairly evenly but yeah


	7. Chapter 7

There was a rap of knuckles on the door.

“Yes?” who would knock?

A head poked through, gaze directed at the floor. A mop of brown hair and glasses offered a barrier for his eyes to hide behind.

It was the one who tried to lay low. It was the polite, submissive little doctor who treated him like a patient, despite dislike and distrust. He was the one who made the most sense, who showed the most intelligence with his words, if not his actions. He was still confusing, though. Although he was a hero and his beast was a force of nature, the small mannerisms betrayed him. He acted like a dog that had been kicked far too often. It didn’t make sense, but it was something that didn’t make sense that he could use, that he could try to predict.

He carried a bag with a design on the side. Serpents and a staff. It was worn; the edges showing the travel it must have seen. Banner had traveled the world. He must have had this for at least part of his journey.

“I had a talk with Thor. He mentioned that your back was rough. I’d like to have a look.” There was a hint of concern underneath the request.

“I would bathe first.”

There’s a downward turn of his lips. “Thor said he cleaned you up.”

“I need to _soak_. I am sure the smell clinging to me would agree.”

Banner sighed. “Can you even stand?”

“I cannot say for certain, as I have not had much reason to attempt it.” It was terrible to even sit up. He did, though. His core burned, ached when he pushed himself forwards. But his back was exposed to the air, and that was pleasant. The cold was nice, the dry even better. It was worth it, to keep the sheets from sticking to his back, from letting the sweat trickle down. “Does this mean you will not honor my request?”

He tried to see past the god’s shoulders. He seemed to weigh the options. He went to Thor’s bath and the sound of running water is so promising.

When he wandered back in, he was rolling up his sleeves. He fiddled with one of the buttons when he folded up the edges. He pushed the glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Tape seemed to hold them together.

“Ready?”

“I make no promises as to how well I can keep my feet beneath me.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.” He offered an elbow as though he were asking a partner to dance. 

Loki edged toward the side of the bed. His legs dangled over the side after a period of slow progress. His fingers dug into the mattress. It was pathetic. His escort hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything more. No comments of disapproval, but no praise. Banner was simply neutral and oh so patient. If his skill alone hadn’t made others demand him, his manner surely must have. Loki took the still-offered arm without complaint. Now was not the time to test his patience with snide remarks. Banner would not let them roll off of him like Stark would.

Loki let the numbness fade from his limbs. Leaving them numb would be a disaster if he planned to have any success at using them. The magic seemed to appreciate the break; the tension within him gone as though a bubble had burst. It was soothing. The nerves throbbing on his feet, in his knees, where the bone was broken, where the skin still hadn’t quite healed shut were another matter entirely. In was grounding, in a way, but far from pleasant.

He pushed off the mattress with some mixture of throwing his body forward and using Banner to pull himself. His stomach protested while his legs were a dull roar. His breath sputtered as though he had been hit. He shifted his weight to the leg without a break. His knee trembled, the soles of his feet burned. He gritted his teeth. He was Loki, of Asgard. He was raised as a warrior and nothing so simple as injury would keep him from his goals. He raised his head and exhaled slowly. He released his grip on the other man’s arm.

He started to lean to one side, and Banner was there. Of course he had taken the side with the broken leg. Definitely no fool. He was a steady hand in the small of Loki’s back. Not even enough to truly be considered support, just for him to recognize the gesture.

“I don’t suppose you can walk?”

“Your guess is as valid as mine.”

“This’ll be fun.”

He moved ahead with a motion that was more hop than step. He bit his tongue. He refused to make a noise in front of the other man.

The progress is slow, and he ended up leaning on Banner more than he had intended.

Soft carpet eventually turned to cool tile.

The pressure in his abdomen was mortifying. He eyed the toilet.

Thankfully, Banner seemed to get the hint. "Of course."

He has the decency to avert his gaze until he hears the flushing water.

Standing was no easier the second time. He was there as support to cross the short distance to the tub.

“Good side first. Can you brace yourself on the edge?”

A nod. If Banner noticed the shine to his eyes, he said nothing. He sunk in all too slowly. The water was still so warm. It must have been scalding to still carry that much heat. He shut his eyes and attempted to let it sink into him. Some of the still open wounds stung, the burns to his feet and a brand along his side from a hot iron rod blazed. The heat was good, the heat was welcome. He wanted it to overpower him, to ease into it and let his muscles relax. Some of the tension from his stomach and back melted away. His jaw dropped and his lips parted in a loose “o”.

He nearly fell asleep before the doctor reminded him of his presence.

“Do you want me to start on those stitches I didn’t get to before?”

He doesn’t even open his eyes, merely smile in that general direction. “I would appreciate that.” Anything that didn’t require thought.

Banner’s touches had none of the hesitance of Thor’s as they went over the injuries. They were practiced, with no more than the slightest pressure. He understood what he had to do.

The soft snip of the scissors was repetitive. One by one, the remnants were pulled from the pale flesh. The places that had not received such treatment were still rinsed and run over with a cloth. What had to be bruises were pushed at in an attempt to check for damage below.

He avoided the lash wounds for as long as he could. “These still look pretty bad.”

“If they had healed over what dirtied them, think of how well that would have ended.” He leaned forward to give the man better access. His stomach disagreed with the decision, but the small of his back was relieved at the lack of pressure.

“Of course.” Cupped hands let the water trickle down.

He hung his head and tried not to flinch.

Banner’s hands explored their new target. He leaned in. “More light.”

“Yes, sir.” And it obeyed.

Banner whistled. The tools beside him clinked together. The fingers of one hand spread the injury wider, and the metal dug in.

Loki tried not to move, but he could feel the other man digging deeper. He stared at his feet under the water. Oh, it hurt. Nothing compared to the guards, but he had grown accustomed to the lack of attention as of late. Had they been better at their jobs, perhaps they would have varied their schedule as well. It may have made the experience worse.

Banner made a satisfied little noise as he moved to enter the other man’s peripheral vision. He held the tweezers out, gripped in the tip was a splinter. “They used wood?”

“They tried leather, but it never carried the kind of force they wanted. Wood was better, but broke too easily. It took them a while before they resorted to metal. Idiots.”

“This isn’t the only piece.”

“Not likely.”

One could practically hear the frown before Banner went back to work.

One motion struck deep and fast and he couldn’t stop the noise that escaped him.

“Sorry, this one’s really in there.”

He nodded, brought his hand up to his mouth so that he could bite his finger to silence himself. He would not be caught off guard again. Banner did not savor such sounds and if he hoped to maintain some semblance of strength it would do him no good to release them.

Banner freed the shard, and the blood was hot on the god’s back. The practiced touches wandered elsewhere. Fingertips prodded where his ribs still showed purple-green.

It was almost like being with the healers at home.

“Lean back.”

Obeyed.

The water was nice. The suds that followed were better. The doctor’s fingers on his scalp were perfection.

Being raised in a palace with servants had had its advantages. Being tended to seemed to have last happened an eternity ago. The warm water washed away the soap and he finally began to feel clean.

“How bad is the leg?”

“I cannot set it today.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“It will be fine soon enough.”

“Good.” The strangest thing was, he seemed to mean it.

 

Getting to his feet again was a task. But Banner was there with open arms and a dry towel. “Did you want something to wear?”

“No?" It hadn't occured to him that that was an option, but at this time it would be more of a hassle than a benefit.

If he leaned more heavily on the doctor on the return trip, there was no complaint.

He fell to the bed, despite Banner’s attempts to lower him gently, and buried his face in the pillow.  Banner put some concoction on the deepest injuries. He covered them and taped the edges.

“I will repay you for your assistance." He was muffled by the pillow. "I do not forget those to whom I owe a debt, and I owe you.”

Banner had the audacity to snort. “Sure. “

He was clean, he was warm, and he was tired. He let the magic dull the pain once more and quickly fell asleep.

 

 

When he awoke, the bed bore the weight of the body beside him. Familiar hands touched the edges of the dressing for his wounds.

“Go to sleep, Thor, your guilt is too loud.” He grumbled into the pillow.

“I did not mean to wake you.”

“If only intent was what mattered most.” It was a bit too far towards cruel. He had to tread lightly until he figured the situation out. He softened his tone. “Go to sleep.”

“Are you well?”

“I will be. Fetch me another blanket if you must have something to do.”

Thor pulled up the sheet and let his hand rest on his brother’s shoulder. “Do not mock me.” But at least the smile had returned to his voice.

“I would never. How dare you accuse me of such things.” He started to smile.

This earned the small laugh he had been hoping for. “You win.” He clapped Loki’s shoulder as he lay down.

It was a small bit of comfort. At least Thor’s guilt was no longer so strong.

Sleep claimed him again.


	8. Chapter 8

“You have green eyes.” Stark said as he entered the room. He hadn’t even knocked. This was important, then.

“I see you have mastered your colors. And at such a young age.”

Tony flashed a brief, sarcastic smile but his tone was serious. “Ha. They didn’t look very green before.”

A shrug.

“They looked…pretty damn blue, actually.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and tilted his head. It was a challenge.

“Your point being?” He wouldn’t take the bait so easily. If Stark wanted to satisfy his curiosity, he would have to work for his answers. Mystery was one of the few assets Loki still possessed, and it would do him no good to squander it.

“You see, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’d want to take over earth. And, funniest thing, I can’t come up with a good reason. I don’t think you’d have done that even if you’d had a breakdown. I don’t think you’re the guy to take things out on a third party. No, you’d take it out on yourself or the ones responsible for fucking things up in the first place. You would have gone after Asgard, not Earth. And even then, big head-on attack? No. You’re smarter than that. You were dead to them. You had every advantage for a covert attack. You didn’t come here for power or revenge. The only reason you came was for that pretty blue cube. Which I’m guessing wasn’t for you, since you didn’t use it. And, considering the wonderful display of intelligence shown by that army you brought down, I’m guessing wasn’t for them, either.  So, whoever gave you the glow stick of destiny blued you up the same way you blued up Clint.”

“Interesting theory.” Neither confirm nor deny until Stark gets to the point, until it is clear what he wants from this.

“So what I want to know is who you were working for, how you ended up working for them, and why the hell you didn’t seize the opportunity for a mind control defense.”

“I was responsible for all of my actions here.” It was true, in a roundabout sort of way. Had he done something differently at any step along the way, things may have turned out differently.

There’s a glint in the engineer’s eyes. “You weren’t.”

“Why do you seem so sure of that?”

“Because you aren’t looking like the Cheshire cat anymore. So, either that whole thing was an act or Thor wasn’t just being nice when he said you weren’t yourself.”

“And if you’re correct, and I _was_ under a force greater than myself?” A doubtful tone as he rolled his eyes.

He wasn’t buying it. “Then I need to know who the hell had you. If they can use their woo-ness” -this word is emphasized by wriggling fingers- “to overpower someone with your level of sparkletude, then who knows what they could do to us foolish mortals.”

Why wasn’t it working?

“Tell me.”

He bore the stare of those warm brown eyes as he weighed his options. That request was all too familiar, though not from this side of the conversation. He could have continued to dismiss it, though that would put Stark against him. Honesty could buy him time and keep Stark beside him. He owed Stark and needed his continued assistance. Damn. He sighed. “I don’t know who. I can’t remember. Barton may have a method, should any of it be possible to retrieve.” The words were low, soft, and honest.

“You don’t remember anything?” He rubbed his mouth. He had been hoping for more.

“I remember persuasion. Threats. The commander of the Chituari, to some extent. But as for that thing?” He shakes his head. “You have a phrase; someone ‘wants to watch the world burn’. He wants to watch the world burn. He wants all of the worlds to burn. That much I do know. I know he wants. He wants things he can never have but I don’t know what those things are, just that I knew it was impossible when I did know.”

“Anything else?”

“His skin is purple.” He shrugged. “And he is worthy of fear by gods.” 


	9. Chapter 9

The alarms went off.

Chaos in the city.

Avengers, assemble.

 

If the images displayed on the tablet were any indication, things were not going easily for the Avengers. Gooey pink creatures were taking over the city.

They had immobilized the Hulk. And in the opinion of someone who had been tossed around by the Hulk, that certainly took some doing.

Lightning summoned by Mjölnir was slowing it, but not stopping it. Stark firing upon them simply made them break into smaller pieces.

Apparently, a container was in route.

 

The things started to win.

One had somehow gotten a hold on Thor’s foot and was dragging him into the goo. He was yelling. His boot was melting. Apparently they absorbed anything that wasn’t the Hulk. This bode well for neither Thor nor the tattered remnants of Banner’s clothing.

Loki placed the tablet to the side.

The voice had stopped, the reporters were being told to back off by one very annoyed Black Widow.

He knew they were fighting. He knew Thor would be struggling against it, and that his team would be unable to help.

That Thor needed help. That he couldn’t break something so soft.

He was healed enough to do this if he acted quickly and efficiently.

He would be taking one small step in repaying a debt. 

He needed to accept that he had already made a foolish decision and was only justifying it.

 

 

He moved through the realm using reflections. It was draining, but less than if he had tried to move through force of will alone. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He was standing in front of a large window in a plaid shirt and undergarments that, thankfully, appeared to have been laundered since last worn by Thor. The marks across his back were a weakness that had to remain hidden. He was trying to stand on one leg because unfortunately the other still hadn’t been set yet. He hated having it exposed, but trying to find something quickly that would fit him had been impossible. He could have conjured clothing, but that would have taken energy. Between getting there and fighting, conservation was key. He was not back to normal yet, he shouldn’t pretend he was.

But the worst thing about the situation was the blue tone that covered his skin. The color was only deepened when viewed through a pair of Stark’s goggles. At least, he thought they were Stark’s. They were in Thor’s room but there was no way the elastic was set to fit the blonde’s fat head. The elastic for the goggles was messing up his hair. They did hide some of his face, and put a tinted barrier between his eyes and the world. Jotun have terrible eyes, the color of blood, and it would be best to keep them hidden. Keep all of this hidden.  The changes served multiple purposes. It made him less recognizable, and as it seemed the other Avengers did not know of his recent relocation, that was needed. Thor would know immediately. It took less energy to modify his usual appearance than it would to fabricate a new one.  It was necessary.

It did not mean he did not hate it.

Thor was pulling against the mass, grimacing.

He didn't attempt to take a single step. Frost spread from where he was standing. It touched the pulsating thing and the creature(?) stopped. He let the magic spread. He allowed it to creep up the thing, crystallizing it. Careful not to get carried away and freeze the trapped leg, too. This had been so much simpler with the casket. The magic had flowed, had only needed a hand to direct it.

Thor turned and smiled. The ice should have melted, it was so warm. He breathed in and a booming exclamation was imminent.

He had no reason to smile and if he ruined the disguise- “Speak, Thor, and I will freeze you as well as your enemy.” He growled. It was most likely a lie.

Thor laughed and Mjölnir came crashing down.

The pink thing cracked and shattered.

The good Captain ran past at a pace just above a jog. They were following him towards a portal that appeared to be a pit to nowhere. He cleared the gap, and they fell into it.

Loki hoped the crack wasn’t what it looked like. He hoped these things were not being led into the void. He hoped that they were incapable of thought if that was the case.

The more he looked into the seemingly endless space, the more he saw the things take the bait and go only against the Avengers they could reach, the more he certain he became that hope was for fools like Thor.

Stark set down beside him. “Any way you can help the Hulk out?” The voice was distorted by the armor.

“I cannot assure his safety.” He spread the frost anyway. There were audible cracks as the creature tried to fight against itself.  It truly would have been so much easier with the casket. He had taken it for granted.

Stark walked away. He turned his back on someone who had tried to kill him. “Yeah, Cap. Our buddy here’s got Hulk, too. Keep doing what you’re doing. And mind the gap, you heard what Reed said.” He tossed large chunks that were beginning to thaw in the general direction of Captain America’s route.

Could he be sloppier than with Thor? Could ice hurt the Hulk? This had already taken too much time and energy.

Hawkeye and Natasha lured stragglers to the Captain, and he simply continued his laps around the block at the same pace. Mortals shouldn’t be able to run like that.

Thor was ready with Mjölnir and he let the creature solidify.

The cracked pieces fell like glass. The Hulk shook like a dog and stared.

It grinned at him in a feral smile and nodded once before kicking, throwing, and pushing huge chunks away. Thor had taken a piece of metal and was shoveling the smaller scraps.

Captain America was luring the last one.

Thor landed beside him as he was studying the Captain. He pulled Loki close with a hand on the back of his neck.

His back was still sore, the marks from the lash wounds sensitive. His ribs were protesting. He was drained. He could have endured one of those things, perhaps both. But the combination of those and the slight turning motion messing with his knees and making the bone in his leg shift had him hissing.

Thor wasn’t sure how to handle that.

His grip loosened, and that just made his leg grind worse.

“Don’t move, Thor. For the love of-" He leaned against him. “Just give me a moment.” He took as slow breath and fell into the reflection still behind him.

 

 

Stark was the first to get back to the Tower. The servant had announced him long before he came to Thor’s quarters.

That single half-knock enter. “You want to fix that?” He pointed at Loki’s leg.

“I won’t be able to fix it like my arm.” He watched the footage from the fight play on the piece of technology in his hands.

“Blew all your sparkles giving us a hand earlier?”

“You seemed to be…struggling.”

“We had it. Mostly.”

“I could tell by the way that the Captain was running in circles, the Hulk looked a piece of fruit like one of those trembling desserts you mortals enjoy, and my brother was screaming.” He was not getting snappy.

“I don’t know if I’d consider that _screaming_. “

“Regardless, you appeared to need assistance.”

“You went out to fight in underwear and goggles, without knowing who your allies would be, while you were still injured.”

“You recognized me as easily as Thor.” He waves it off.

“You were lucky Hawkeye or Widow didn’t take you out.”

“It did not happen.”

“God. You’re making me sound like Steve. Is this what he feels? Nah, I think I’m still way cooler with it than he would be. You have potential, grasshopper, but you have much to learn in the art of endangering yourself.”

“I have no interest in mastering that art.” He tapped the screen, attempted to read an article beneath a photo of the Hulk.

“You pick up new tech fast.”

“I’m a quick study.”

Stark did not need to know the fact that it had taken directions from the servant to activate the device or that most of what came after was lucky guesses.

“At least have JARVIS warn me that you’re coming next time.”

“I don’t plan on a next time.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Stark left, and he read news stories.

 

 

Thor storde in an eternity later

“You’ve returned.”

“We were celebrating. Had you remained, you could have come with us.”

“Before you rest, I require your assistance.” He sat up, taking careful note of the magic at his disposal. “I cannot repair the injury to my leg alone.”

Thor’s hesitancy was written plainly on his features.

“Are you so squeamish as to deny me comfort you could easily provide?” It was blatant manipulation, but it worked.

“What would you have me do?”

“Reposition it. It isn’t the first time you’ve had to assist someone in this.”

Thor hovered over him.

Loki rolled his eyes, positioning one of Thor’s hands below his knee. Placing the other above his ankle, he was glad for his flexibility. As with his arm, he focuses the magic in his hand. It wouldn’t heal it completely, but it would keep it from moving, at least. With any luck, it would be nearly as good ad new by tomorrow.

“Out and to the left.”

Oh, it hurt. The mending bone burned as it came together. As soon as it was stabilized, he threw himself backwards on the bed.

Thor followed with concern in his eyes. “Brother?” he had the expression wiped away by a fist. Thor could take such a reaction. He had the audacity to laugh as he nursed his cheek. He smiled took his spot on the bed. “Feeling better?”

“Quiet.”

“If it means you are to again fight beside me, I would endure a thousand blows.” The words are a whisper but they cut as badly as any blade.


	10. Chapter 10

Thor had left his armor scattered across the room. He must be wearing the garb of this realm while with his team.

The color of the metal had appeared different,  before and now. He must have had it worked on.

Pity, as no one knew the protective charms that were involved with the first set.

He could make a few adjustments, if it meant that Thor would be less likely to return home. Any trip he would take to Asgard would put this arrangement, whatever it was, in danger.

He pulls the cape from the floor. The bottom and corners were beginning to fray. If they hadn't even tried to protect the material from the elements, what hope would it have against the things the Avengers seemed to be fighting on a weekly basis? Thor was to be the next king, and they hadn't even made sure his cape wouldn't unravel itself. That was disgraceful. 

They wanted another contract after this one was damaged. That had to be it. There was no other reason to produce something of such low quality. They would blame it on the circumstances of Midgard, and Thor wouldn't even question it. 

They would be irritated when no more gold came their way. 

The edges are easy to clean up. The stains dulling the red lifted with just the barest hint of magic. He folded it and picked up the nearest piece.

The brigandine was just as bad. Well, perhaps that wasn't fair. This one at least had magic bound to the metal. Unfortunately, that magic was to make it shine. This was not armor meant to be worn in battle, it was ceremonial at best. So either Thor had misunderstood, or whomever had made this had underestimated the foes to be found here. 

Since the leather was beginning to show wear and, in one or two places, fine cracks, he was placing the fault on them. If the plates shone, Thor was less likely to tend to the leather. One section appeared to have been eaten away by something caustic.

It was easy enough to treat it now, though. Something to keep the stiff sections hard and the soft parts supple. Something else to protect from acid. Another from heavy impacts. yet another to protect from flame.

The  scale mail for his arms received the same protection.

Then the helmet was next. He ran his fingertips over the wings. There was no accounting for taste.

A vambrace was half-hidden under a pair of jeans. He goes to find it's mate and the design catches the light.

It's new.

Oh.

That was a familiar shape.

He touched the raised metal.

Had Thor been wearing these before he had been captured, or had they been something new after his trial?

Before. His mind supplied an image of this metal just beyond Thor's swing.

He truly had mourned.

 

If there had been doubt before of that fact, this banished it.

Thor, at least, had carried his image with him through whatever deeds he had managed to accomplish. Had displayed it proudly.

 

Had still worn it, even after the events that had unfolded here.

He had plunged a knife into Thor's side, and still had a position with him during every fight.

 

Thor had fought beside him when others had not. They had defended each other during terrible battles. 

 

Thor had defied Asgard to bring him here. Had offered his own bed for his comfort.

 

He ran his fingers through his hair.

 

If the magic for those last pieces was stronger, well, that was a good thing, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, another short one, sorry. You should know I have no idea how to organize a story into chapters. 
> 
> Also, that I have no idea how to respond to comments and not sound incredibly insane but I just about explode with joy whenever i get one oh my god you guys


	11. Chapter 11

Terror gripped the pit of his stomach, jolted awake by pressure on his wrist.

Cuffs.

A bit of magic here. Don’t be helpless. Fire. Just a slight delay.

“Motherfucker!”

Dropped. Now curl before they-

Running water and a stream of expletives.

Reality rushed in.

He pressed the heels of his palms to cover his eyes.

This _would_ mean his return to Asgard. Or at least the loss of Stark's protection and Banner's tolerance.

“Back yet?”

No response.  Curled into as small of a ball as he can. 

Stark sighed. “JARVIS, lights to 76%.”

They got brighter.

“Put on some music.”

The sound flooded in.

“No. What the hell is this?”

“That was the last accessed song from this room, sir.”

“What?”

“Master Loki seems to prefer classical music with piano or string instruments.”

There’s that nervous tapping. “Master….? Was that his idea? You know what, doesn’t matter. I can compromise. Put on that band with the cellos, the one that does Metallica. I can tolerate that.”

“Very well, sir.” It shifted over.

“Loki.”

He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Loki.”

And he was too patient. Too calm. Too gentle.

“I really don’t want to have to explain to Thor that I broke your brain. Come on.”

No.

“Dammit.”

A hand on his shoulder. The slightest pressure.

Was it better or worse to have tasted this freedom?

He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

“Good. While I had come for something else, I think this might be a priority.” The contact between hand and shoulder ends, and he knows Stark is running a hand through his hair. “Do you know what sets you off? A list of what not to do to avoid freaking you out would be great.”

“Why?”

“If I come to annoy my shiny new resident demigod, I would like to not get magic-ed accidentally. If I deserve it, I deserve it, but we try to avoid as many accidents as possible with all of us living with each other.”

“You intend to keep me here.”

“As I said to your brother, there’s a place here until you don’t need it or you return to a fulfilling career in supervillainy.”

“I attacked you.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t part of an evil plot or anything.”

“I don’t understand your motivations.”

“I’m a superhero.”

“I doubt that is the sole reason.”

“Right. God of lies. What do you know about me?”

“Knowledge gathered from the media.” And what was in the SHIELD agents’ minds. But that hadn’t been much more helpful than what the public knew. Not that much of it had remained once the blue was gone.

“I was captured by some not-superhero-y people. If it weren’t for someone who helped me, I might not be here today. They didn’t have me for too long. And now I hate caves, car batteries, cold water, and the smell of hot sand. You know, the usual.”

Silence.

“Well, desert sand. Desert sand and ocean sand smell different.”

“You give this information to someone who may one day be your enemy.”

“Maybe. That stunt you pulled yesterday seemed to suggest otherwise. You ever think about being a superhero?”

“I am not like you.”

“Now _that_ is a lie.”

“It is not.”

“Also a lie.”

“I hate you.”

“And we’re three for three!”

He has to turn and stare, now. Stark was insane. He was holding up three fingers with a smile on his face. But his hand was shaking.

“How badly have I injured you?” He gestured with a jerk of his head.

“No idea. Second degree, maybe.” He looked at it as though he had just noticed it. Like he suffers injuries like that all the time.

“Let me see.” Rolled over, beckoned.

With the sigh of someone who is used to showing a teammate their injuries, Stark does. His hands are rough. They’ve probably seen a lot of abuse. Perhaps he is used to such wounds. He inspected the burns. The damage wasn’t too bad. Not as bad as his first thoughts of charred skin. The calluses may have spared his fingers some discomfort.  There’s some redness on the sides of his fingers, and his palm looked like it would blister.

He let a bit of healing magic on his fingertips.  He started to trace a line and Stark yanked his hand away.

“Don’t touch it!”

Loki sighed. “I may not be a trained healer, but I am capable of repairing _some_ things.”

“Oh. Magic. Right.” He offered his hand again and Loki was actually confused for a split second.  This trust thing wasn’t exactly what he’s used to.

He took the other male’s hand. Just the faintest bit of magic to heal skin. Finished, he let go. Stark flexed it.

“That is a cool trick.”

He was disappointed by the choice of words. “You mentioned you had a purpose in coming here?”

“Oh, yeah. If there’s even the slightest chance you’re going to fight beside us again, you know, ever, I would like to know what you can do. It wasn’t too hard to guess your plan this time, but we do try to have something penciled in before we’re all on the ground. Also, we need to have a talk about the way you dress yourself when you go outside. You went from that helmet to stealing Thor’s underoos. I can’t keep fighting with someone who has no sense of image.”

“I don’t plan on making it a regular occurrence.”

“Aww, come on. I know you had fun out there.”

“I did not like the concessions I had to make.”

‘’You’re the one who wore tighty whities to fight crime.”

“Would you rather I fight clothed only in sunshine? I’ve been told Midgard frowns on that sort of thing.” It’s a snap borne of irritation. He bit his tongue and moved past it with a shake of his head. ” I wasn’t speaking of my impromptu costume.”

Stark raised an eyebrow.

“You recognized me, so I am going to assume you were made familiar with my appearance after Thor’s rescue.”

“He shanghaied me into getting those cuffs off.”

“You noticed I did not look like him, correct?”

“You don’t really look like him to begin with.”

“I am not one of Thor’s kind.”

“He _may_ have mentioned you were adopted.”

“He would have put it gently.” He watched for Stark’s reaction. “I am a monster.”

He just wore that stupid smirk. “Depending on how you define ‘monster’, we have Bruce, the resident assassins, and me. Plus your brother the alien. Sure you don’t wanna join our club?”

“It is not the same.” He spat. “I am one of the bogeymen, a demon.”

“I think some of Xavier’s kids are “demons”.” He formed the air quotes with his fingers. “Actually, now that I think about it, some of them are blue, too. That a prerequisite for being a demon, or is red okay? Because if so we need to talk with someone about a costume change.”

“There are blue citizens of Midgard?”

“They aren’t exactly common. A few of the X-Men are blue, though sometimes fur or scales are involved. So how does that work, exactly?”

He was still reeling from the ease at which Stark spoke of this.

“Like, are you usually blue and hide it, or usually not-blue?”

How did one begin to explain the complexities of changing one's appearance? “It’s like…breathing.”

“Breathing.”

“Second nature. Instinct. Most of my life, I have looked like this. I am able to change it with concious effort.”

“And if you’re fucked up enough, it’s not regular.”

“Apparently.”

“And what about abilities? You more durable, fast, strong, whatever?”

A pause. “The appearance changes nothing.”

“Alright. I’ve seen you fight with knives and a spear.”

“Yes.”

“Fire is apparently a thing?”

“I believe I was considered a god of it at one point.”

 “With the ice, you did distance. But it was connected. Is that an option or a necessity?”

“I don’t know.”

“When you use the fire, it’s all in your hands. The ice seemed to start at your feet, but you shaped it with your hands. Is that right?”

“I don’t know.” How closely had Stark been watching?

Stark eyed him like a new toy. “How opposed are you to some testing? We have training grounds with a very handy monitoring system.”

“I…”

“You feel up to it, right?”

He could be better, but he could indulge this. Performing a few "tricks" for Stark would be child's play. But... he may as well bargain. "Provide me with clothes that have never been worn by Thor, food that was freshly prepared by those hired to do so, and better sources of information and you may perform your tests." 

"Deal."


	12. Chapter 12

It was an hour before Stark returned.

When he did, though, he came with a bag of good clothing. Items of quality and style.

“I had JARVIS calculate some rough measurements from our footage. There’s more coming tomorrow, but these should work for now.”

His back was in the doorway. He wasn’t watching, but he wasn’t leaving.

The fabric is so soft.

Loki pulled off Thor’s things and tossed them across the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the shirt. It was a pale green thing with sleeves that only went to about his elbows and a v-neck that dipped to his collarbone. Stark had an eye for fashion.

The pants were pressed with crisp lines in a warm chocolate brown.

There were three different styles of undergarments to choose from.

Boxers?

Briefs?

Something smaller that he would have loved to see Stark purchase with that smirk on his face?

He settled on none of the above.

 

Stark was waiting.

 He tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Ready to show me what you can do, Merlin?”

The ego of it was enough to get the god to chuckle.

His knees were healed but stiff and his leg still tried to protest when he put his full weight on it. He would have leaned on Stark, but he was so short.

Maybe he wasn’t that short, for a mortal. But when you come from Asgard and it seems like everyone is taller than you, humans do seem small.

Stark was shorter than Lady Sif.

He walked alongside him, though.  He moved slowly and Stark matched him. The beautiful thing was that it didn’t look like he was making that concession. If anything, it looked like he was the one slowing their pace. It may have fooled someone who wasn’t as versed in deception. They were in the elevator, headed down, when the door slid open.

His mind was fast; he had to hope he was blue before the invader processed it. And hope that they didn’t recognize his face.

 Captain America waited there. He smiled before squeezing into the space.

“I see Tony tracked you down.”  A gentle clap to his shoulder. The soldier was staring. “Have you fought with us before?”

Shook his head, stared at the floor.

“You look familiar.”

Fear was rearing it’s ugly head. His heart was racing and he should get out of here. This space was too small and the Captain took up far too much of it. He shrugged and offered a hand to shake. “Thank you for your help. “ The kindness was not meant for him, he couldn’t face it.

He shook the Captain’s hand, but it wasn’t a thing of pride.

“Hey.” A hint of concern. “You alright?”

Only one of Thor’s friends would be worried about the emotional state of a frost giant in their elevator. He finally managed to look him in the face.

When red met blue, he didn't look away. Like he stared monsters in the face all the time. Perhaps he did, if what Stark had said was any indication. He just smiled. It was a soft thing. Warm.

 He nodded.

“That’s better.  I’m guessing Tony’s bribing you for your help?”

Stark finally, mercifully cut in. “I am offended, Cap. You think I have to buy us allies?” It was teasing.

“I don’t think you have to, but you seem to try to anyway. Or you hack all of their technology until they finally give up and submit to your will just so they can access their email.”

“You make me sound like a villain, Cap.”

“Sometimes, I think you’re one invention gone wrong away from being one.”

“I already conceded that the vacuum may have been a bad idea. May.”

The soldier laughed, then.

The door dinged, and Stark stepped out. He gave a half-hearted salute to a frowning Captain America.

Loki simply got dragged along.

 

 

He was tired. Stark had wanted so much from multiple angles. The same spells cast over and over, different intensities, different combinations. Stark had certainly laughed like a villain with the first appearance of the fire.

“Those an illusion or reality?”

“They are whatever I wish them to be.” The man didn’t understand magic, he disliked how he couldn’t comprehend it, but he had to admire the utility of it.

Loki had had to take breaks. It wasn’t excessive, just a moment to breathe every once in a while. He had lowered himself down to the ground a few times. Put his back against the wall. He could do better, much better, but at this point he had to know his limits. His knees would protest when he got back up, but he would have some energy and Stark would nod.

He would watch, make requests, and ask so many questions.

He had tried to answer them all at first, but it quickly became apparent Stark was only filling in the silence. He would note the answer, it didn’t matter if you were replying to something from four questions ago, but he didn’t necessarily need the answer you gave. It was a strange way to converse.

As it went on, Stark complained about all the ways it didn’t work with his science. He called it cheating.

But he still smiled with every new display and got that strange glimmer in his eyes.

Even when it led to the destruction of training equipment.

Especially when it led to the destruction of training equipment.

Loki had let himself down, as he had done maybe four times before.

And then he could not get up. He had made the effort. Twice, actually. But he was stuck.

Stark had given him time, as he had previously. He was typing and running information.

 Stark left his science. He offered a hand. “I think we’re done for today. Need a hand?”

He took the offer.  Stark pulled, he pushed and pulled. Stark let out an undignified noise and landed on top of him.

That curiosity was back “You make no sense.”

“I believe you have a saying about glass houses, Stark?”

“Tony.”

A quirk of his brow.

“Name’s Tony.”

“Your allies call you Tony.”

“My enemies, too. “

“And which of the two am I?”

“You seem more set on enemy, but no one can resist me for long.”

 

“God, you’re heavy.”

He wasn’t sure if Stark knew he had offered a play on words.

“You’ve got to be a few hundred pounds.” He had gotten up, had offered both hands. It had ended about as well as the first attempt.  “I might have to explore our options. Like the suit. Or robots.”

For some reason, that was the funniest thing in the world and he laughed.

He was knocked on his ass and someone wanted to help but simply couldn’t. A human who he had fought against so recently.  Because he was heavy.

A superhero was treating him as an ally, trying to help him. And he is unable to not because of any social, logical, or moral reason, but because of a physical inability. And he was thinking of a way to overcome that.

He knew that it must seem strange, but couldn’t bring himself to stop. He covered his face in a half hearted attempt at modesty.

Stark sat beside him, doing something on his phone.

Loki's sigh had the slightest hint of giddiness.

“I take it you had that wonderful moment of clarity where you realize how far things seemed to have strayed from a plan you made a very long time ago, decided that that plan was a good plan, Why don’t things go to plan?, then you knew that plan could have been much better and decided fuck plans.”

“It’s more of a ‘was there a plan?’ sort of thing.”

“I know that feeling. If I remember correctly, windows were involved.” And he spoke of it as though it was some inside joke. Perhaps with the type of people they associated with, it was.

“I don’t know if you want to hear his stories. Tony tends to ramble.”

The soldier. How long had he been there? Stark was up at the sound.

“You just don’t like me telling people about that time when Clint convinced you-" He was cut off by the blonde’s hand over his mouth.

The blush on the Captain’s face made it clear that that was a story that should be heard.

“I finished my run and had JARVIS order pizza. You want to join me?”

Stark shrugged and the soldier released his grip on the other man’s face.

“You look like you could use a break.”

“You mind giving him a hand up, Cap?”

That smile, offered hand.  That hint of surprise as he’s pulled up. Shifting his weight to one side again. It would be fine by tomorrow.

“Are you alright?”

Nod. Kept from wavering on his feet. The Captain had to stop asking that.

“Hungry?”

They were walking. The captain was ahead of them, but he nodded anyway.

“Good.” He knew the answer without looking.  “If you’re supposed to be anywhere near as heavy as your brother, you’re really underweight.”


	13. Chapter 13

He knew.

Frozen.

He needed time to think. How to appeal to the Captain.

Pity? Pity was working with the others, albeit unintentionally called upon for the most part. If he was that low to them, one more wouldn’t be so bad. Pride was less important. He could beg.

He did not _want_ to beg, but he could.

But if the Captain was as principled as he seemed, it would not work. Pity was nothing in the face of justice.

“Hey.” Stark starts.

Eye contact.

He wore an expression that would not look out of place on Thor. The defender. He’s willing to fight his teammate on this.

He has an ally who chose to work with him and whom he had not persuaded to do so.

That…was not a common occurrence.

He followed them through the hall. He would have missed the elevator had the door not been held. He leaned against the side as the car rose. His knees were locking. He knew it was all in his head. Now was not the time for fear. It was time to adapt. This was Stark’s residence. He has control over who is living here. Until Asgard came, Thor caved, or he ruined it, Stark was willing to let him stay.

The door chimed.

They were on the Captain’s floor. Stark led the way.

He paused just outside the elevator. His ally had flopped down on the couch and beckoned him over.

The captain was in a leather recliner, but perched on the edge.

“Loki.” He looked at the two of them on the couch.

He had the voice of a leader again. Not the one he had conversed to Stark with.

“When did you figure it out, Steve?”

“During my run. This is the type of information I need to know, Tony. This is my team and I should be made aware of anything that could impact it.”

“How did you know?”  It was curiosity that made Loki ask. Was it something he saw? Something he could remedy should he have to do something similar again?

For a moment, he seemed surprised to hear the voice. “Thor asked about extradition. He didn’t say it that way, but he wanted to know if we sent back escaped prisoners to their captors. He hinted at a set of circumstances that sounded more like war crimes. I wasn’t sure of the law, and I let him know that. He has also been very aggressive in practice lately. I thought it was all for future use, not that he had already done something like this.”

He couldn’t look at the captain then. He had some idea about what happened, and there wasn’t pity there. And Thor had made his life difficult. Why did Thor have such a talent for ruining things?  New strategy.

“He and Tony did not treat you like someone they didn’t know when you came to fight.”

The opportunity to play a helpless victim was fading fast.

“You said we haven’t fought together before, and you seemed afraid of me, so we must have fought against each other. It took a while for me to place you, but your face is the same, even if the color’s different.”

He hadn’t hidden himself well enough. The captain knew a snake when he saw it and now there was no chance to plead for kindness. “What do you intend to do with me?” Freshly grown fingernails, sharp as those of a newborn, dug into palms. He was foolish. He had let hope in. He had somehow lost the acceptance of his fate and replaced it with a desire for... something more. Freedom, perhaps. Change. He was nearly healed, at least there was that. But if what he had experienced had only been a small fraction of his sentence, what would be waiting for the rest of it?

No. It was deserved. It was just. He was responsible for death and destruction. 

What would be added for his escape?

“I don’t know.” Steve said with the slightest shake of the head.

Thor. Would he be blamed?

He wasn’t made to handle anything near that. Odin may take pity on him.

Or use him as an example for other citizens.

Words would be more effective against him. They would turn to that when the pain didn’t have the desired effect.

He wouldn’t break quickly, but he would break as violently as a crack of thunder.

Frigga would weep.

It would be all his fault. Again.

“Hey. Breathe.”  Stark nudged him with his foot.

It was still just buying time until the remnants of the Chitauri or the one who had commanded them came to find him. Then it would seem like nothing.

He would wish for this.

They could do things more horrible than those of Asgard could even dream of. 

“Dammit, Cap. You broke our Loki.”

Would it even matter after the first moment?

Would his mind survive what they had to offer?

Perhaps. It had survived other things.

His best chance of avoiding that would be with a group willing to fight.

He could die fighting. That would be better than being the prisoner.

The Avengers would not win.

 But what if they did?

No.

“What do you mean, broke?”

They would not win.

They had once before.

No. Childish dreams.

“If he burns me, I blame you.”

“Burns you?”

“Calculated risk.” Stark shrugged.                           

They won before because of his failures.

The hand on his face redirected his attention away from somewhere beyond the floor.

He closed his eyes. Any shield was preferable to none.

“Come on, look at me.”

Obey.

Disgusted at the way rebellion wasn’t the first thing to spring to mind.

“You need to get out of your own head.” Stark had leaned in close.

Too close.

Loki ripped himself out of Stark’s grasp. He tried to glare, but it was underwritten by the way his shoulders had started to tremble.  “Do _not_ touch me.” He reined in the show of weakness.

 “What is going on?”

Stark backed off, hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Let’s just say Thor does not know the things that occurred in the cells in Asgard. He has ideas, yes, but if he truly knew- they would no longer be breathing.” He couldn’t help the dark smile that twists his lips.

The Captain gave a questioning look.

He really shouldn’t have left an opening like that. “You are not as easily killed as your average mortal, are you, Captain? Thor and I are built even stronger than that. Imagine how much torture you could withstand. Now imagine how much a body like mine could. Have you ever been disemboweled? It is quite the experience, I assure you, to have something you need to survive pulled from you. Being in the hands of someone who couldn’t care less for your life or death. Really, the uncertainty of it is the worst thing.”

A calm hand on his shoulder. He shot it a glance. Stark had a knowing look. That was…not what he wanted. Stark had made himself an ally. The captain could be an enemy.

He _would_ get a reaction.

“You have had broken bones, haven’t you? Dislocated joints? Have you ever been held up by limbs so mangled you wonder if anything you can do could even hope to fix it, or if it would be better to cut your losses?” 

He was still so calm.

Fine. He had to laugh.  A low chuckle. “How about when you can’t get enough air? When the world fades at the edges, slowly swallowing everything? When your lungs protest, when your heart races even though your mind knows it will do no good?”                                 

The captain gritted his teeth.

“And of course you endure everything, because what choice do you have?”

Steve rose from his perch and closed the gap.

He got a reaction. Victory.

He was pulled up by his shirt. The soldier stared him in the face for what felt like an eternity.

Pulled into a hug.

That was not the plan. The plan involved anger, the plan involved violence.

The plan did not involve a “Sorry.”

He doesn’t want the kind words and displays of affection. “What?”

“We would have fought harder to have your trial here if we would have known.”

“You treat me as an innocent?”

“I can hate the actions and not the person.”

“That doesn’t make sense. None of you make sense.”

And it was too warm. Too gentle. He should fight against it. He should curse and scratch and bite until they hate him like all the others because then at least he’ll know where he stands.

“I’m not saying I trust you. I just think that it wouldn’t hurt anything if you stayed here for a while.”

Steve rubbed Loki's back like he was some sort of infant.

“Please don’t make me regret this.” He made it sound like he’s the one begging.

He still considered him a threat, but was giving him a chance anyway.

He accepted that he wasn't innocent but allowed this. He was _good._

“Oh.” He let himself return the scrap of affection, awkwardly placing his hands on the blonde’s back. “I can see why Stark didn’t count you as a monster.”

“Tony?”

“Don’t take it out of context. I may have suggested that multiple members of the team could meet a given definition of “monster” because someone was having some identity issues. It’s a compliment, Steve.”

Steve. Not Captain America. Captain America was the one he was anticipating, not the man underneath the costume. There was a difference. Warriors weren’t the same here. They hid themselves.

Well, except for Stark.  Stark was interesting like that.

The Captain was a good person. He wasn’t making a decision without all of the information.

It was far from a guarantee, but it was definitely something to work with.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, much like what happened with Thor, I felt that Steve's side of things needed said...so... um...yeah.

Steve Rogers was not a stupid man. When Thor showed up to train the morning after he had gone to Asgard, he knew that things must not have been good at home. Thor had made arrangements for his leave and then had come home early. He was angry. He was confused. He wanted to fight. That was something he could help indulge. He could go toe-to-toe with Thor for a short while, and the small matches were good practice.

After a few rounds which had all ended in his favor, Thor asked, “Does this realm offer sanctuary?”

Steve gulped down water, Thor always made him break a sweat. “Sorry?”

“If one were to flee here, would they be returned or granted mercy?” He sat on the bench, and it is clear that this would be a pause, at least.

“I’m not sure. I think it depends on what they’re fleeing from?”

Thor hummed and nodded. “Let us say they are escaping unjust punishment.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t-“

“Punishment wherein they could be killed. Cruelty for the sake of pain and humiliation. Your people would stand by and allow such injustice to continue?”

“I don’t know the law. I’d hope not, but I don’t know.”

 

The battlefield had been hectic. He hadn’t had much time to focus on the person providing assistance. “Little Boy Blue” as Tony had named him and the reports had used, had simply shown up, helped, and gone on his way. If the way he reacted to Thor and Iron Man were any indication, he knew who his allies were. The Hulk hadn’t attacked him. All in all, it worked out well and he wouldn’t mind seeing him on their side in the future. He was gone before the end, which was not very helpful. He had wanted to establish a working relationship with him if nothing else. He had wanted to write him into the reports with his own chosen alias, and thanked him. But he had vanished into thin air, and there wasn’t much they could do about that. Odds were, they would see him again. He would have felt more comfortable knowing they would meet as friends rather than enemies, but you have to accept what you can in this line of work.

 

Seeing him in the elevator was a shock. Nothing should surprise him anymore where Tony’s concerned. Tony always pulls off the unexpected. There was something familiar about this person that he just couldn’t place. Plus, he seemed… nervous. Guilty. Scared. Steve knew that some people were intimidated by him. Muscles and military had left a bad taste in some people’s mouths. This wouldn’t be the first time someone had made assumptions about him because of it.  So he attempted to be as nonthreatening as possible. He thanked him. Smiled, offered a hand. He had to ask. “Hey, you alright?” The guy didn’t say a word. He might be mute. Or speak another language. He finally earned eye contact and it was all he can do to not gape at the blood-red eyes meeting his, to not focus on the play of light across the iris, the dozens of color differences that he could have picked up on even before the serum. The contrast between red and blue was something. He found himself studying the flow of those lines- scars? Markings? Tattoos? They looked like the tribal scars from a documentary that had been left on the other day. He tried not to stare. He got a nod. So this person understood English, even if he didn’t communicate in it.

Tony grabbed his attention and kept it. All too soon, he and the stranger were gone and he was left in an empty elevator.

 

Sneakers met pavement and he headed out into the city. He ran to clear his head and map the small changes to a familiar setting. His footfalls were a beat as familiar as that of his heart. It took effort to get his pulse racing in his ears, to make his breath come slightly rougher. He noted the buildings under construction, a new person selling possessions on the sidewalk. He added a new storefront to his mental map, made note of a demolition blocks away. The blue face kept creeping back into his mind. He knew it.

Alright, blue people. He wasn’t one of the X-Men, but he might be related to one of them or have somehow stayed under the radar. Considering his appearance, that seemed very unlikely. If the markings were scarification from an isolated culture, he may have escaped notice for a while. So, unlikely but not impossible. 

Atlantean? No. The shade of blue wasn’t right, the markings were different, and the eyes were something else. Not Atlantean. Possibly part Homo Mermanus, though. Just because Namor had a certain appearance didn’t mean that it would play out like that for someone else. Again, very unlikely. Neither solution explained why he was so familiar.

Alien? Possible. The universe was a big place.

He focused on the planes of the face, the shape of the body.

The dark hair, sharp features, the _green_. Tony had to know who it was. Thor had _not_ been asking hypothetically. Without all the distracting details, it couldn’t be more obvious.

Loki was in _their_ tower.

He took a calming breath and turned home.

 

The place was not a smoking pile of rubble when he arrived. That had to count for something. There was a chance of that happening on a good day.

“Jarvis, where are they?”

“Training room, sir.”

“Still? Can you put in our usual order? Thank you.”

He walked as a man with purpose.

He could hear the light laughter from the room before he reached it.

Tony had the gall to joke about almost dying to his almost murderer. He had to interrupt that.

Tony tried to make him a laughingstock, and he put a stop to that as well.

“You look like you could use a break.” Loki looked tired; you could see it in the set of his shoulders and weariness of his eyes.

Tony offered his assistance for him. That explained why he was on the floor. If Thor went down, it was a lot of weight to get back up again. Thor weighed 640 pounds, give or take, and that was more than most of the team could handle. Bruce had explained it as dense tissues. Even considering the lack of muscle, Loki had to weigh what, 500?

He offered a hand and tried to keep his expression neutral.

It was nothing to pull him up. Lower 300’s, max. Tony must be too focused on appearances; he should have been able to handle that. Loki automatically shifted his weight. He looked, for half a second, like he could go back down. That …didn’t match his experiences with Asgardians. Thor healed what small amounts of damage he took quickly. “Are you alright?” This earned another nod. “Hungry?” He headed for the door. If he was anything like Thor after a good bout, he’d be hungry enough to eat a horse. And dessert. “Good. If you’re supposed to be anywhere near as heavy as your brother, you’re really underweight.”

 

He had expected the pause, had expected Tony to argue right then and there, but they left the training room without argument. He pressed the number for his floor. Tony entered behind him, but Loki trailed behind. He was favoring his leg. He leaned against the side of the elevator and it was hard not to stare. Asgardians don’t lean out of necessity. It was definitely odd.

Tony was the first out. He claimed the couch, so Steve took the chair. He needed to control this situation, lay down some rules.

Loki was doing a poor job of looking comfortable as he sat down next to Tony.

“Loki.” The mention of his name seemed to banish the blue from his appearance.

Tony decided to act as a go-between, and Loki seemed relieved. “When did you figure it out, Steve?”

He answered with the truth.

“How did you know?” The voice surprised him not just because of the speaker’s former silence, but because of the tone. It was a far cry from the hateful remarks and boasts over the battlefield.

He was a liar; it wasn’t good to assume this was anything more than an act. All Steve could use to counter it is honesty.

That fear didn’t seem false when Loki asked “What do you intend to do with me?”

“I don’t know.” 

Loki was silent and he could see the mind racing behind green eyes the way he sometimes caught it behind Tony’s. But there was something more, too.

“Hey, breathe.” Tony tried to distract him, but it didn’t seem to work. “Dammit, Cap. You broke our Loki.”

“What do you mean, broke?” He picked up on the increased breathing, the way the man’s fingernails dug into his palms. The faraway look that he had seen on the faces of too many boys trying to be men after long-fought battles.

Tony wagged a finger at him. “It he burns me, I blame you.”

“Burns you?”

Tony shrugged. “Calculated risk.”

Something must have happened where someone was burnt before to make that a risk. But it wasn’t enough to deter Tony from what he was going to do.

Tony whispered soothing words and Loki pulled away like he was the one that was burned. He glared at Tony, but he was shaking like a leaf. “Do not touch me.” He spat out the words.

It was getting harder to believe that all of this is some evil plot. “What is going on?”

Tony seemed to pass the baton and Loki spoke. The tone was familiar and sharp, the grin of someone on the edge of sanity twisted his mouth. He was dropping the act. Or putting on a new one. His words were cruel and manipulating, whispers of blood shed and pain suffered. He did’t shrug Tony off a second time.

He was pushing and pushing. He laughed, and there was a hint of desperation if you looked past the anger. The cutting words escalated; he knew what nerves to strike.

 He wouldn’t hit him. Steve grit his teeth. He wouldn’t hit him. He closed the gap between them. He wouldn’t hit him. He pulled him close and hoped that a kind touch won’t result in violence. He searched Loki’s face for some sign that this would be okay and saw only an accepted challenge. He knew that look. Fear overshadowed by pride. He embraced him, held him close. Loki tensed, and Steve mumbled an apology but didn’t let go.

There was a dazed “What?”

He seemed to honestly not know why his talk of torture would earn an apology. What kinds of punishments were common in Asgard if disemboweling could be an option? “We would have fought harder to have your trial here if we would have known.”

“You treat me as an innocent?”

And the fact that the concept seemed so foreign to him, that someone would have to be _innocent_ to have not suffered like that, was heartbreaking. “I can hate the actions and not the person.” They had had enemies become allies before, and had had allies become enemies. If Loki was willing to fight alongside them then maybe he wasn’t as far gone as they had thought.

“That doesn’t make sense. None of you make sense.”

Steve kept up the gentle hold. Loki was confused, and hurt, and maybe this was what Thor had seen before when he talked about his little brother. And, if by having faith in Thor and Tony’s judgment he could hope to bring some sense of order and good to this mess, he would do that. “I’m not saying I trust you. I just think that it wouldn’t hurt anything if you stayed here for a while.” If it was all an act, they’d have to deal with that later. “Please don’t make me regret this.” If there was even the slightest chance that asking would help keep the world safe, he would take it.

Something seemed to click in Loki, more of the tension melting away. “Oh.” His hands are wary when they touch Steve’s broad back. Steve took it as a sign of acceptance and it made his heart skip a beat. It couldn’t all be a trick, could it? “I can see why Stark didn’t count you as a monster.” Loki said it as though he were still trying to puzzle it out.

“Tony?” he should be used to strange comparisons where Tony is concerned, but “not monstrous” was a bit stranger than he was willing to accept.

“Don’t take it out of context. I may have suggested that multiple members of the team could meet a given definition of “monster” because someone was having some identity issues. It’s a compliment, Steve.”

He would have to take some time and see which way Loki acted. They had taken him down once and they could do it again. But if he needed asylum, he could try and provide it. Or at least hold off on ruining it. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was only a chance.


	15. Chapter 15

“Lady Pepper!”

She straightened up at the booming tone. Tapped her foot. Where was the elevator? It wasn’t that she disliked Thor. She just had a very busy schedule. He understood the beaurocracy involved with running a kingdom, but didn’t always seem to grasp the fact that the work she did could be just as time-consuming, if not worse.

Thor’s long strides made quick work of the distance between them. “You are knowledgeable.”

The last few questions that had started with that statement had involved the feasibility of keeping animals from other planets as pets, the purpose of temporary tattoos, and an explanation of the phrase 'more than one way to skin a cat'. It wouldn’t be so bad if he tried to use JARVIS first. She did not envy Jane in the slightest.

When his hand found her shoulder, she put on the same smile that had served her well in years of woring with Tony.

He took a moment to consider his wording. “To whom would one inquire about interplanetary law?”

That was not an expected question. “I don’t really know how developed that branch of our legal system is.”

He nodded as though he had expected that answer. “What of law between nations?”

“What do you need to know?”

“The policies of this realm towards those from other lands fleeing persecution.”

“I’ll look into it, okay?”

“Thank you.”

 

She pressed the door close button and breathed a sigh of relief. "Jarvis, would you have the legal department look into international policy and send Thor the report."

 

 

When Thor returned to his floor to find it empty, he grit his teeth. He began to look for signs of a struggle, or a note. He found nothing.

"Do you require assistance?" Jarvis questioned. 

"Have you knowledge of where Loki has gone?

“He is currently in the company of Steven and Anthony on the Captain’s level. Should I page him for you, sir?”

"Nay." He sank into his couch. A film feturing a sheriff in a dusty town played on the television.

 

The elevator doors slid open long after the day was saved and the hero got the girl. Tony mentioned meeting again the following day before waving goodbye. Loki shook his head as he stepped into Thor's floor. 

"You visited the Captain."

Loki huffed. "If that is what you wish to call it."

"How would you phrase it?"

"We negotiated terms over pizza. His rules are more defined than Stark's." He claimed a spot on the cushions.

"Rules?"

"Yes. Apparently I am to be on my best behavior. No murder or mind control will be permitted. If I do so I will risk a repetition of previous events."

"And?"

"He has agreed to tolerate my presence here, otherwise."

"He has forgiven you?"

"No. Few would forgive such actions so easily. Surely _you_ do not-" He stared, and what he saw must have answered his question. 

"It is not so simple..." Thor started.

"Really? What _do_ you hold against me?"

“You told me father was dead.”

“Out of all the things I have done, every trespass I have committed against you and Midgard, all the lives I have taken and lies I have spun, you focus on that?”

“I wept for him, Loki.” The hurt was still there. “I believed I was to never speak to him again.”

“As did I, as did mother. We were unsure as to if he would ever wake. I didn't want you entirely in the dark.”

“You only wanted power.”

“I did not want to be king!” The words were spit.

“Who attempts to conquer another realm when they do not wish to lead?”

“I took the throne of Asgard because I was the only option. Everything I did was for the good of our people.” Slower. Steady voice. “I can admit in hindsight that my plan may have been misguided. I mistook father’s inaction as a threat, and sought to remedy it in the way that would cost the least for our side. But I was no more misguided than you. The Jotun were a threat to Asgard. You charged in declaring war. So many lives would have been lost in a fight like that. I would not sacrifice our people when we had options. My plans had far less casualties. I think before-" He stopped himself. “-It does not matter. You stopped my plans. Father’s will was made clear. I failed. Had I known what had awaited me I would have clung to my chances in Asgard."

"You let go."

He shrugged. "I had accepted death, not what had awaited me in the space in-between. When I was spared from remaining immersed in that place, those who kept me were perfection. They offered me a chance to prove myself. Everything was calm, blue, and as sweet as honey. What I had seen ceased to tear at me. All I was to do was assist them. I do not expect forgiveness for my own poor decisions."

Thor pouted and looked ready to speak, but he did not argue. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay.  
> first, sorry for the shortness.  
> Second, sorry for the delay. My future sister-in-law, who lives with us, was involved in a motorcycle accident. She broke her ankle in three places and had to have a plate and pins put in. helping her out has made things a bit chaotic at home.   
> Also, the original version of this ended up frostiron but I'd like to keep this gen, i think. So i've had to edit it a bit more than anticipated.


	16. Chapter 16

It was mid-afternoon when Loki headed to the training room. Stark had used his servant to call for him.  Apparently, he wanted more data on ice.

It was nothing to pull on the mortal clothing and take the elevator to where he needed to go.

 

“Awesome. Mr. Freeze, if you would be so kind?” Stark was in the armor, but had the faceplate up.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “What is it you expect me to do?”

“Use your mojo. Ice me.”

“I rather like you, and I would hate to lose someone so entertaining.”

“I need to test something. “

“If the cold is severe enough to damage a citizen of Asgard, what hope do you have?”

“My tech is better than a little chill.”

He would go easy on Stark. 

The frost spread.

It did not stick like it should have.

“You have to do worse than that. This isn’t any worse than flying." He stepped heavily towards Loki and lashed out with a kick that was easily dodged. “I’ll fight you the same way I fight the other superhumans. And I want you to try and freeze me.”

“I have very little experience using ice when I fight, Stark.”

“You’ve also got a few hundred years of experience with hand to hand. I’ll take what advantages I can get.”

This deserved a look. Stark took a swing- he was fast. Faster than he should have been carrying such weight.

Loki appeared a few feet to the left of where he was initially. Stark quickly turned, leading with an elbow. This hit connected. Not a ton of force, compared to long-ago fights back home, but enough to knock the breath from him.

Stark slipped back into a waiting position. He wasn't fighting to hurt. He wasn't in it to damage. This was like the tests before.

He was curious.

“Fistfights were never my forte.” Loki lashed out with ice and fire. Ice from the ground, fire from the air. His opponent dodged, ducked and wove. He tried to close the distance between them and was succeeding. Without another small draining movement through the realm, he would have caught up.

Blasts shot from his hands.

Well, damn.

Loki was knocked down. He lied for a moment before vanishing.He reappeared in two places at once.

Stark could tell which one was real right away.

That particular bit of magic was not worth the trouble.

Stark was winning. He knew he was winning. He gloated. He got sloppy.

One strong thick hit of ice connected. A glaze over a good portion of the armor locked him into position.

“My magic is not to be mocked, Stark. It would be wise to hold your tongue.”

A loud crack. A soft twang.

A gauntlet-covered hand pulled him away. The shatter of a thousand pieces of ice.

Pain. He hit the ground.

 

“Stand DOWN, Hawkeye. JARVIS?”

“Dr. Banner is on his way, sir.”

“You wrecked my shot!”

“Stand DOWN.” Stark was in the line of fire, between a mage and an assassin.

Loki was far too familiar with being numb, lately. He just needed to take the edge off to think.

He couldn’t blink right. A shadow in the peripheral vision of his left eye.

He glanced to the side.

Oh. An arrow. Lovely.

Stark and Barton were having heated words with each other.

He touched the injury and his fingers came back wet and sticky and red.

The arrow entered the skin right beside his eye. It may have hit bone. If so, it ricocheted outward rather than in. it was under the skin for roughly two inches, emerging out of his temple. That’s the source of most of the blood. It wouldn’t stop with the arrow still there.

Not life-threatening.

But if it had struck the slightest bit to the side, or if the arrow had bounced in rather than out, he would have at least lost his eye. Perhaps his life.

And there were still things he had to figure out. Beings who needed to feel the wrath of a vengeful god.

This was something worthy of retribution.

He stood, walking over to the argument.

Banner invaded his vision.

There was green there, in his eyes. “You’re looking a little unbalanced.”

“Move.”

“Why don’t we take care of that, first?” He pointed at the arrow.

“It can wait.”

“It’s bleeding pretty bad.” He put a hand up so that his fingertips touched the god’s chest.

“It’s nothing.”

Another voice joined the other two.

He peered past Banner and Steve Rogers had put himself between his teammates. The Widow appeared, her expression unreadable.

“Must everyone arrive to witness my disgrace?” Loki muttered.

“Lean down, let me see.”

He considered for a moment. Banner wanted to ensure that it wasn’t a bad injury. Without the threat of property damage that was present in other areas of the tower, he may be more willing to change to physically force compliance.

There was a bench on the side of the room. Loki headed there instead.

Banner didn’t leave more than a foot between them. He had one knee on the bench to get a good angle.

“How badly does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t”

Banner put the fingertips of one hand on Loki's throat to feel his pulse, the other directed his chin to make eye contact. He was checking his vital signs like he expected him to die. Perhaps he had seen a few mortals go downhill fast from such injuries.

“Magic, Banner. Put yourself at ease.”

A towel hanging off of the bench was used to soak up some of the blood.

 “Once the damned arrow’s removed, it will be nothing to repair it.” He let his fingertips brush it again. The fletching would be a bad idea to push through the wound. The shaft was metal. They would have to cut it, it would not simply break. The head emerged at his hairline, just before it would be directly above his ear. It felt securely attached to the shaft, not one of the removable ones the assassin was known to use. “I need a blade.”

“Cut it out and it will need stitches.”

“No stitches. “ The thought made his stomach drop.

“Hey, Natasha! You have anything sharp?” Bruce called.

She didn’t even seem to direct her attention from the others, the arguments going three different ways, with the captain seemingly caught in the middle of Barton and Stark’s shouting match. She removed a blade seemingly from thin air on the inside of her thigh. As she didn’t seem to have any magic about her, she must be _very_ good at concealing her weapons.

It landed in the wood with a soft thuck. Loki pulled it out easily.

“It should be cleaned…”

May as well make it a show. Loki let the fire play along the edge. Banner watched that very closely. He offered the good doctor the blade, but Banner refused to touch it.

It wasn't the best angle. He had to turn to drag the blade in with his right hand. Pressed the sharp edge into flesh until it met the hard metal of the arrow.

Pulled the blade through skin and tugged the arrow before it fell.

 A very familiar blade made up the tip. He stared at it for a while trying to remember where he would have lost it-

-sentiment.

They must have found it cleaning up after the battle.

“Loki?” Banner was touching him again. Checking his condition. He could feel the blood dripping down the side of his face.

Oh, yes. Still injured.

He sighed and sealed it with a wave of his hand. Not perfect, but it would do.

Used the towel to wipe the blood away. “Is that better?”

Tired. But Barton needed to be spoken to.

He covered the distance quickly.

 

“I don’t suppose I may speak to Agent Barton alone?”

“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of the team.” The Captain protested.

He handed the Widow back her knife. He stared at the arrow in his palm before eventually handing it back to the archer.

“I have some words for him that I would not share with the rest of you.” He made eye contact, trying to convey the thought that some things were best kept to a smaller audience. He gave Barton the reigns, let him lead.  They would give him more.

Barton was used to dealing with people who didn’t give the whole story, it seems. He nodded. “I can handle him.”

It was a lie the others were willing to tolerate from one of their own.

 

Barton took him up to the roof. He had to marvel at the fresh air in his lungs. Well, as fresh as that of any large city. The autumn sun was warm on his skin. He hadn't had the time to savor this on his last trip out.

“There are no cameras here. My story will be a lot more believable than yours. Nat keeps weapons up here. I might not know where all of them are, but I have a good idea where most of them are.”

“It’s nice to meet one of you with a sense of caution.”  He stared at the skyline. He hadn't had much chance to appreciate this before, either.

“We’ve met.”

"I would hardly classify what occurred as “met””

“In this line of work, I think it counts.”

“Perhaps. I understand that things sometimes happen to be unusual with your current career. Regardless, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Barton.” He offered his hand and it was ignored. But it made the archer smile. This was a power game. That could be workable.

“Now what the hell did you want to talk about that you didn't want to say in front of the others?”

Make yourself seem less threatening. You’re too tall. Sit down. But ask permission first. “Do you mind if I…?” he made a waving gesture at what might be a vent.

“Whatever.”

“Thank you.” It was easy to perch on the edge. “I am missing some information that may be important to the future of both our realms. Unfortunately, those memories are very temperamental in when they decide to grace me with their presence. They are as smoke when I reach for them, but pursue me like hounds on some nights.” On other nights the void would cry. If things under the Chitauri were as hounds, then the things from before them were feline. Graceful quiet until the pounce and then everything would be upside down and backwards and the claws would be there and it would be so sharp and soft and shadows somehow lighter than the darkness would writhe, whispering of nothing and everything and Thor would wake him. Or he would wake himself. It wasn’t always clear which scenario was the case. He struggled more when he was alone to break free from it, to reassemble the fallen pieces into something capable of meeting the definition of a person who could recognize the images as belonging to the past and set them aside to dwell on later. Even if only a snore from Thor woke him, it was better than trying to find his own mind. “What do you recall from when everything was calm, blue, and smelled of dust?”

This earned him the stare of a killer.

“Apologies. I meant no offense.”

Barton didn’t respond.

Smile, nod. Accept his distance and use it as a stepping stone for the next conversation. “Thank you for your time.”

“Things I was confused by. I remember those.” He had a soft distant tone to his voice. Like he was sharing a secret.

Confused? That would explain why Thor’s loyalty was so clear. Of all the things, his brother begging him to stop and come home had stuck the most. He had the knife in his hand; he could have slit his throat- “Perhaps complicated emotions were harder to control.” That would explain it. Things with Thor always got more complicated.

Barton shook his head. “Not just emotions. I remember questioning how to take some of the shots. Clarifications of orders.”

“The fight with the Widow?” If Thor had stuck with him, surely the Black Widow had stuck with the archer.

“No. There were countermeasures in place if she ever turned. She needed to be neutralized before anything else. I knew all the ways to take down Nat. I wouldn’t kill her without answers, but I could try and ask her for them myself.”

He had plunged the knife into his brother’s side, and still Thor had caught his wrist.  Every fragment of him left had shouted “Why?”

“And you?”

He’s unfocused; he shouldn’t have let his mind wander. “Thor.”  His own voice kicked him into overdrive and other things were quickly added. “Not running when I had the opportunity, the Widow being very good at her job, failing to take Stark.”

It was quiet. The archer stared at him with an expression that was intimidating, to say the least. Barton sighed and clapped his hands. “Alright. If I’m going to try and get acquainted with a supervillain who I shot in the face not 20 minutes ago, booze needs to be involved. Lots of booze.” He walked back towards the door.

All of them were insane. Were all mortals like this, or merely the superheroes?

“Come on. Tony's got one hell of a bar.”


	17. Chapter 17

He drank the better part of a bottle of something green and herbal, despite Barton’s suggestions to “Avoid the green fairy. You aren’t even used to hard liquor yet.”

It was an interesting kind of intoxication.   It was a wonder the magic users of the realms hadn’t taken it from here. He had to have consumed enough to get a reaction from even one with his tolerance, but it wasn’t hitting him yet.

He would have Stark procure more of it.

Barton was speaking of the festival known as a circus. Bragging about feats he performed for the crowds on a rope far above the crowd. Of flying through the air.

As the hint of intoxication grew stronger. Barton’s stories shifted to memories of working for SHIELD. Vague stories about long missions and impossible shots. Perhaps he was too accustomed to falling asleep hearing tales of battle.

The last words he heard were “never going to Budapest again.”

 

A soft hand on his shoulder. The vertigo hit him like an angry bilgesnipe.

“Loki.”

“Go away.” He screwed his eyes shut. “I’ll be fine by morning.”

“I can’t just leave you here.”

“I am not moving.” At least the table was cool.

The captain pulled on the barstool. Just a few inches.

Loki barely had time to register the arm behind his knees before he was swept up.

The world spun. He buried himself into the worn t-shirt on Steve’s chest.

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

“Leave me on the couch.”

“Clint’s on the couch.”

Of course he was.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

“Yours? I should warn you, if I am to be your bride, I don’t think I qualify for a white dress anymore. Thor wore one better, regardless.” One could feel the blush on the captain’s face. It was easy to smile at that. Loki inhaled the scent from the shirt. Soap and sweat and what might be paint. He let his fingertips trace the other man’s jaw. “So young.”

Steve was trying very hard to ignore him. “You’re drunk.”

“I am.” He smiled.

“You and Tony both, I swear.” He stepped out of the elevator. When had they gotten into the elevator? “Thor?” The captain’s voice was so loud in the small space.

Thor awoke with a start on his own couch. The television droned on about the world’s latest wonder product.

 “They once more came to blows?” The confusion was audible.

“No. They raided Tony’s stash.”

“Has Anthony something so potent?”

“You wouldn’t like it.” His breath was more laugh than sigh. “It burns.”

“Clint was passed out on the couch, and he was at the bar. No obvious injuries, so they weren’t fighting.”

“Barton is a sad man.” His stories of performances and missions had taken notes of helplessness, fear, and sorrow as the liquid had burned it’s way down Loki’s throat. “He is just so…sad…”

“You lose your tongue when you have too much.” Thor acted as though he were speaking to a child. “Worry not, Steven. I can handle my brother even when he puts himself in such a state.” He stresses the last few words as only an elder sibling could. It had been a very long time since one had been drunk without the other, and longer still when the one who was worse off in the situation wasn’t Thor. Let him judge.

There was a mumbled “Good luck.” as he was handed off and the flustered leader makes a hasty retreat.

“Why do you tease him so?” The pout was far too obvious in his tone.

“Mischief.”  

“Mind your position. You do not need more enemies.”

Thor was nowhere near as gentle as the captain would have been. He was tossed onto the bed rather than lowered onto it.

It was nice not to be viewed as breakable.

“I will keep that in mind when speaking to the Black Widow and any of your other allies.”

“You and Clint have made amends?”

“I stole his mind and threatened his planet. He shot and nearly blinded me. Otherwise we seem to be on good terms.”

“You always were the better diplomat.”

“No. To me, they whispered secrets, but to you, they pledged loyalty. There were times I could use those secrets to gain some semblance of loyalty, but it was not mine without condition as yours was.”

“You seem to have loyalty here.”

And that was…true.

Thor flopped down heavily, not caring which limbs were where.

“Please do not mistake their belief of a sentence filled as weakness.”

“Yes, Thor.”


	18. Chapter 18

Loki stretched, feeling rested but cold in the empty bed.

“Jarvis, was it?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Where is Thor?”

“He is currently in Captain Roger’s quarters, awaiting breakfast like the rest of the team.”

“I see.” He was with his friends.

“They were unsure as to if you would be interested in joining them, but have extended the invitation.”

In the Captain’s quarters in the blink of an eye. He knew that using his powers for such trivial things was a mistake, that he was being foolish and vain.The fork thrown in his direction was dodged easily enough, though it did seem to imply that such actions were frowned upon.

The Widow, Barton, Banner, and Thor were sitting at a table. So small compared to those back home.  Tony Stark leaned against a counter. He stared for a moment before pouring another mug. He offered it and Loki took it without argument.

The liquid inside was scalding hot and bitter. Loki let the cup warm his hands.

Banner seemed amused. “Tony, did you just give him black coffee?”

“He and tweetybird could use something strong.”

Captain Rogers places a tray loaded with…something edible on the table.

The room was warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The secret lied in the proximity of all of these people. The ease they showed around each other. None of them wore a trace of armor. No weapons. No articles of clothing to deflect attacks. The captain was the only one wearing shoes.

Stark and Banner both had untamed hair that spoke of late nights and short sleep. Thor's was wet, but still uncombed.

“Your hair is going to tangle.” He didn’t know why he said it. Force of habit, perhaps.

Thor nodded, though he continued to pile food onto his plate.

“You _do_ recall when you first attempted to let it grow and it had to be shorn off because of your negligence?”

“I will attend to it later.” The hint of a whine to his tone was all too familiar.

The others each claimed their share of the pile.

What was the etiquitte for a situation lie this?

A whisper in a different tongue, the Allspeak translated it easily “Take what you want. There is plenty.”

No one but him seemed to have noticed Miss Romanov’s assistance. There were a half a dozen conversations all weaving together. He glanced at her and nodded, though she didn’t appear to be paying attention to him. Her lips were not painted and her eyes were not lined. She wore no mask here, no tools of her trade. This was her home.

Perhaps she had felt out of place in a situation like this before.

He observed the others.  Barton poured the golden-brown contents of a bottle onto his. The doctor was using red jam, and held the cakes with his fingers as opposed to the cutlery the others are favoring. He sampled those options. It was... sweet.  Always sweet. They were obsessed with sweetness here.

The Captain’s were topped with slowly melting butter.

That would be less sweet.

He spotted the dish by Thor. He could summon it, but that may not be a good idea here. It was tolerated in Asgard, but they had had years to get used to it. He would need to ask to avoid risking any unpleasantness- “Brother? Pass the butter.” 

Thor paused in his discussion with Banner. Sat a little taller in his chair. There was a knot in his brow when he turned.

The smile broke like a summer rain.  A heaviness, a crack, and then the floodgates were open. Thor was _laughing_.

And it was terrifying.

“No.” One chair clattered to the floor, another cried in protest as the god of mischief tried to slide free. “Thor, I know that look.” He managed to stand before those arms were around him, but he was nowhere near far enough away to avoid this.

Squeezed far too tightly. The pressure was enough to pull him off the ground. Simultaneously amused and mortified.

Amused because he could get away at any time, but Thor acted as though a hug would keep him in place. Mortified because all of Thor’s allies could see this.

But there was no disgust in their eyes, no sharp words. Only smiles and the knowing shaking of heads.

Thor may have treated them the same.

They were not merely allies, or teammates, or friends. They were family, here.

Perhaps it would not be so bad to be taken into this one, too.

At least this time there were no lies about what what was expected of him, what he was capable of, what he _was_.

“Hey big guy, I thought we had a talk about suffocating people during meals.” Stark sipped in an attempt to hide his expression, but the smirk wasn’t quite hidden.

Thor sat back down and the meal resumed as though nothing had happened, except for smiling glances from Thor. One slip of the tongue and he was ecstatic. As the food disappeared, the others dispersed one by one. Romanov was right, there was plenty. Even with Thor, the Captain, and himself, there were some of the hotcakes left.

Banner had eaten a surprising amount.  Perhaps his other form used more energy than his current appearance would suggest.

He leaned back in the chair, balancing on two legs. He took another sip of the bitter brew Tony had given to him. It wasn’t bad.

“Are you feeling better?”

Rogers cleaned the dishes. Servant’s work. None of the others had commented on it. Perhaps that was how it was always done. “Well enough.”

“That’s good.” The water shut off. "What are you going to do today?"

Thor had recieved a message from Jarvis with the implication it was heavy reading. He was not in the mood to force Thor to complete a reading. “Can we watch a film?”

Steve Rogers smiled. “I would like that.”


	19. Chapter 19

They had threatened. Why had they threatened?

Why had they _had_ to threaten?

why

Oh.

Because questioning had led to thought. Thought had led to power. Power led to thought led to more questions and he _could_ have fought it, he could have, it didn’t matter what the price he _could_ have- and _why_? Why didn’t he question more? Why didn’t he think? Why didn’t he fight? Why didn’t he kill Thor? Why had he acted when all he had desired was nothing, and then anything and then _everything_ and then simply what wasn’t blue? Why hadn’t the fall killed him? Why had the sorrow turned to calm turned to fear turned to anger turned to calm that wasn’t his and **why**?

He didn’t deserve death; he didn’t deserve thought. He deserved to suffer and fight and please those who had plucked him from the crushing emptiness that had surrounded him- had torn the air from his lungs, the heat from his bones (what heat? that heat was an illusion; a lie. everything was lies and he was a liar, an illusion and illusions were merely spells subject to the whim of their caster and he was to be theirs and subject to _them_ ).

So why was he here and with them instead of _them_? Why were his enemies his allies and when did things shift? He was a liar and an illusionist and everything about him was false. Why would they accept him? He deserved to die, he deserved to have the things he received in Asgard or to be as he was before- to have that air ripped from his lungs to have the heat (the lying heat the deceitful heat the _imagined_ heat) torn from him and have the honesty forced from him as it had been before. Before, when he couldn’t always think but his tongue was still his weapon even when he hadn’t the mind to use it (and he had, he _had_ used it) and his allies were his enemies and it wasn’t his illusion to control-

A snuffle from the warmth behind him. That was real. It had to be real.

And perhaps he was to work as a liar and killer in the company of liars and killers and how this was supposed to be different he couldn’t say, merely that it _was_. It _was_ different, and that was the point. Things _were_ different here and there was just the hope that all of this wasn’t an illusion from someone with more skill than he because someone with more skill existed and he was dangerous and he was mad and he wanted he wanted he wanted he wanted what?

_Who_?

Someone.

He wanted _someone_.

And that was more than he had before and if he had to embrace every doubt, taste the strangeness on the back of his tongue, be smothered in the scent of dust and bones, hear the metallic life of the Chitauri echoing in a still world and focus on a breath to return he would do this every day to claim what belonged to his mind back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i tried to make this readable.


	20. Chapter 20

It was another battle, and he was watching. Some human with an army of robots. Every mortal with a piece of technology was able to catch the fight, even when the media was unable to get close. Images from a thousand phones in a thousand windows were all easily organized and displayed by JARVIS.

The audio from the team was already connected to the AI. It was nothing to project it to a concerned demigod.

Cameras from local buildings added to the picture.

The team split up, taking on the horde. The Black Widow had gone for the one in control. Slowly but surely, she slipped through his defenses/ The Hulk and Thor are took out a swarm that had gone after Stark and managed to bring him down to earth. His communications had been scrambled, but he was up and moving. Captain America defended a school a short distance away.  Hawkeye perched a few buildings away, up high and taking out bots that had wandered too far from the destruction of the others.

A lucky strike from a missile hit the building.

“Fuck.” The audio was clearer than the video, and without any lag. He clung to the remains of his spot with one hand. The other held his bow while a gash on his bicep trickled blood. It was impossible to see other injuries from this angle.

“Hawkeye, status report.”

“I’m hanging in there, Cap. Wouldn’t mind an extraction if I could get one, though.”

“Thor?”

A mass of robots, a wave of them, all attempting to deal with the threat flooded the two largest fighters.

“I cannot break free, Captain.”

Still no word from Stark.

More missiles shot at the archer. His grip was eroding away.

“Jarvis, can they hear me?”

“You are now connected, sir.”

“Black Widow, you almost have the one commanding this force?” If the question or the one asking it surprised her, she didn’t show it.

“Working on it.”

“There’s less opposition to your left if you can get past the first three. Captain, your crowd has been moving to the basement; do not worry if you have to expand your arena.”

He let the blue take over. This was foolish. “Hawkeye, I would retrieve you. Note that I make no promises for your comfort, as the sensation of moving through a world is something that many practitioners with more years of study than I have of life have yet to get used to.”

“Don’t go for it unless you have to. I can do this all day.”

His words didn’t seem like a lie. Barton was being either honest or confident. Having researched what exactly a trapeze act had required, either was possible.

Another shot at the building.  This one was too high and sent stone raining down.

They adjusted their aim, the next shot too far left.

It would be a matter of timing. In. Grab Barton, preferably with cover. Out, to a higher place where he could assess Barton's condition and the status of his weapon. He saw the shot in the air and moved. his arms were around the archer’s chest. He was moving again, but not before the sensation of falling had taken over.

On the roof of another nearby building. He kept the archer still until the world stopped feeling so unbalanced.

He didn't even seem to waver on his feet. “Yeah, Cap. Little boy blue got me, no worries.”

He gestures at the archer’s arm.

Hawkeye shook his head.

Pouting. He was nowhere near as skilled as the healers at home, but he had enough skill to do this.

“Yeah.” He looked over the world presented by their new position. “Who’s on cleanup? They get the scrap value, right? Let them move it.”

Being ignored was as good of a hint as any that he was to remove himself from the area.

 

 

 

He was buried in Thor's refrigerator, searching for something to eat. The heroes would likely celebrate as they always did, with food from a local business. 

He had managed to start a pot of coffee. Something to warm his hands and drink slowly.

As the pot was percolating, Loki ducked into the refrigerator. Milk would make the bitter brew nicer.

There’s the sensation of being watched. A prickle of hair and the feeling of danger. The faintest sound of bare feet on tile.

“Barton? Or Romanoff?” They were the only ones who could tread so quietly. Loki moved a few things around on one of the shelves.

Where there should have been another approaching step there was silence.

He retrieved the milk, but there was little to choose from in the way of food.

Miss Romanoff had stopped in what may be considered a defensive stance, barefoot and clothed in denim and a shirt that made her seem like just a normal woman of this realm. She stared.

“Would you like some coffee?” Loki placed the jug on the table. 

She circled him like a shark. She had to have been a dancer, once. The seemingly effortless way each step carried her over the tile had to be the result of practice. No one could be so graceful by nature alone. She claimed a seat at the table.

There was a sound that some may consider laughter. A huff of air through the nose. “You don’t know what side you’re on.” 

He pulled two mugs from the cupboard and poured. She had theories.

“You don’t think you’re good. You know you aren’t good. But you’re not so sure that you’re bad, either."

She took hers black, but his was half milk. He gestured for her to continue.

"You aren't interested in the world. You aren't in this for redemption at all. You helped Thor because he helped you.” 

"And?" What did it matter why he assited them, as long as he did so?

"That sort of mindset won't last forever. If you don't find another reason, you'll end up fighting him again." She sipped her drink before asking, “Are you coming with us tonight?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Stark. He decied it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner and is taking the team out at a normal hour.”

He stared into his mug. “It would not be a wise decision. I should be kept out of sight as much as possible.”

A quirked eyebrow. "You aren't as recognizable without the gold and leather."

“Though I seem to be permitted to remain here, I _am_ still an escaped prisoner. Both Heimdall and my-” Knowing that she noticed he caught the slip was worse than making it in the first place. “ _Odin_ have ways to see this world. “

“How did you avoid them when you helped us before?”

The hint of a grimace. “I didn’t.”

Her gaze asked the question for her.

“I can avoid Heimdall if I truly try to, but hadn’t seemed important in the moment.”

She shook her head and rose from her seat. As she left, she whispered “Thank you, by the way, for not letting him fall. “

 


	21. Chapter 21

“I had a nice talk with Miss Romanoff over coffee.” He sat on the floor of the lab, watching Tony tinker with various wires. It had been as good of a place as any to escape Thor's attention after they had returned from their meal. He was repairing an electrical issue brought to light in this morning's fight. “Something she said reminded me of our little chat, when you offered me a drink.”

“And what would that be? Please tell me she didn’t say Barton was having performance issues. Actually, tell me she did. I would love to have that kind of leverage.”

He let a small green flame dance from fingertip to fingertip. “Nothing so simple, I’m afraid. Do you recall, when you listed the assets you possessed here, the list of ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes’?”

“Not entirely.” A fizzle and hint of burning from his project.

“You did not list yourself.”

“I am a man who needs no introduction.” The smirk was all too easy to see through.

“Needing and utilizing are two very different things. You did not count yourself as one of them. To steal a phrase, how much red is in your ledger?”

A twitch. “Too much.”

“I think you underestimate the lives you have saved.”

“It isn’t a budget to balance. Things don’t always break even by making the numbers match. I was stupid and blind for a very long time.”

“You mentioned that you built weapons. The records I was able to find show that you stopped. This was after the desert?”

“Yes.”

“The experience must have left quite the impression.”

He snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Oh?”

He worked on connections for a moment longer before turning. He laid the tool on the crowded table. “You never got the story on this,” he tapped the light on his chest “did you?”

“No.” it hadn’t mattered and there was no information to be found on it on the internet.

Tony left the workbench and headed to a cabinet. He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of liquid amber. He poured and offers one. Loki took it. Tony downed one glass and poured a second before sitting down.

“This must be quite the story.”

“Yeah.” He took a sip of the second glass, and Loki mirrored the action. This liquor is different from the other one. It doesn’t just burn like fire, it tasted like it too. A hint of smoke.

“Once upon a time there was a genius billionaire playboy. He made weapons, among other things. Well, one day someone he knew and trusted convinced him to go and show off some of those shiny new toys to the people who would be using them. So he goes to the desert and puts on a good show.  Unfortunately, those not-very-superhero-like people that I mentioned before attack him. There is smoke and noise and explosions. The soldiers who were there to protect him die. He picks up a gun, but someone else, maybe Hammer, probably Hammer, got that contract and the mechanism jams. So he tries to get away. Then a bomb, you know what bombs are, right, with his name on it goes off. I’m not being metaphorical here. His name, his maker’s mark, painted right on the side. It goes off and he ends up with metal in his chest. Blood is impossible to get out of designer suits. They recognize him as being worth more alive and there’s a doctor in a cave with a car battery. A magnet to keep the metal still so that it doesn’t kill him. He improved the design with a miniature version of something his father made years ago, powered by Palladium. The guys want a missile. He builds a suit of armor instead. The doctor dies for him, too, but so does everyone else in the caves. The genius figures out that weapons are at the mercy of those using them, so he stops making them. “

Downed more of the liquor.

“Well, it turns out that money means more to some people than years of being family. That guy from before, the one who told him it would be a good idea to go? He knew it was a trap. Seems he was tired of the genius billionaire playboy making business hard and set him up to be killed. So, now that he’s back, he tries to kill him himself. He uses one of _my_ inventions to take this out of my chest. Takes the one thing keeping me alive while I watch, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.” He shook his head. “He fails, obviously. So things are good for a while. Then it turns out Palladium sucks and following in the footsteps of dead men sucks even harder. So he takes care of a guy trying to get revenge for something his dad did to the other guy’s dad. Another victory, the day is saved.  And now this” he tapped it again “Isn’t doing more harm than good.”

“You said it saved you.”

“Yeah. Palladium wasn’t really up to what I needed it for. Was poisoning me. I was going to die. Had to find a new element and everything.”

“And that element is where your magic comes from?” 

“I don’t do magic.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Where the energy that you have captured and collected with every intention of bending to your will comes from, if you must be so insistent on terminology.”

“Yeah.”

“You became a weapon.”

“I always was. A weapon’s designer’s ‘greatest creation’.” He tilted his head, shrugged. The last sip in the glass went down his throat. There was a darkness there, in his eyes. No hero should bear it the way he does.

He shouldn’t seem to guard it like the flickering flame of a candle, spared from the wind by the shelter of one’s palm.

“You defend this place. You are a shield, not a sword, Anthony.”

“The great Howard Stark made one of those once, too. Steve hit you with it. Guess I’m version 2.0.”

“At least you aren’t painted with a target.”

The smile on his face as he returned to his soldering made the comment worthwhile.


	22. Chapter 22

He had to move. The Avengers were short a team member, Hawkeye had been called away on a mission for Shield. They had one less pair of eyes to survey the battle and had not noticed a child wandering into a very dangerous area. His feet pounded the asphalt as he ran towards her. She was crying, a plush dog? Wolf? Very lumpy cat? In an outrageous shade of pink clutched in one hand. Her mouth was open and you could make out a “Mamá” in the quiet between the whines of missiles and heavy drone of insects. A lab experiment in pesticides had had quite the opposite effect on the test specimens, and they had grown and mutated rather than dying. They had escaped because of strong bites and, in some specimens the ability to spray acid, and were causing more property damage than anything. The Hulk and Iron Man were not helping the property distruction, much to the chagrin of Captain America.

The carcasses and pieces were falling to earth, if one fell the girl would be injured or die. Mortals were so weak and it stood to reason a young one would be even more vulnerable. He called a shield, formed one from the world as he had with his armor so long ago. It was simple, but large. He held it above him as he dashed across the gore-strewn road. He took a knee, sheltering her beneath it.

She clutched his shirt and buried her face into his chest. “Per…per…” she sobbed.

Midgard has so many languages…this one rises and falls like song through the next quick burst of words, but the Allspeak was nothing if not efficient “I lost my mommy.”

“Why don’t we go over to the side-“ He placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“NO! I’m supposed to stay put! Mommy said to stay if I got lost!” She punched him in the arm.

A brave little one. “Fine, fine. We’ll stay right here so she can find you, alright?” He sat down, holding it above her like an umbrella.

When a centipede scuttled towards them, it may have been a bad idea to light it on fire. Effective, yes, but the noises the creature produced upset the child further.

 

Steve used his own shield the same way when he ran through the street. He spotted Loki and headed over. “What are you- oh.” He gave the girl a small salute. “Sorry, miss.”

“We’re waiting for her mother.” He said, as though it made all the sense in the world.

Steve smiled. “Of course. The roaches are almost wiped out, but the locusts are giving us more trouble. Keep your eyes peeled; we saw one take out a dog.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” He gestures to the still-smoldering carcass in the street.

 

The insects all seemed to be eliminated. When the all clear goes out, civilians trickled back out into the streets.

A frantic woman snatched the child up and clung to her as her hands shook.

The girl didn't even seem to be phased. “Thank you blue man!” She waved with her whole arm, a huge smile on her face. Her grateful mother clutched her tighter.

He raised his hand to wave back, and the girl laughed.

Perhaps heroism had some appeal.

 

Thor's hand on the back of his neck was grounding. 

"You are coming with us."

 

The food was far too salty, and insect pieces clung to the captain's uniform and Tony's armor. Banner wore a clean shirt, but his pants were in tatters. Nearly everyone was tired and dirty, and there wasn't much talk.

Why did it feel so perfect?

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

He decided to explore Stark's labs and came across Banner, absorbed in his work, first.

He wasn't sure what to make of Banner. Though the man was not actively a monster and genius at the same time, the things he had accomplished in either form merited respect.

He had seen the world. One should be well traveled.

He had tricked the Black Widow. Allegedly. Thor had mentioned it, but hadn’t explained it.

He was wary of Banner, and even more cautious concerning the Hulk.

Banner rolled his shoulder. Typing.

If he worked like Stark, he could have been doing this for hours already.

Another shift in his seat. Movement of his shoulder. It must be stiff.

He could bring a small bit of comfort to the doctor. Secure a position on his good side with simple touches. It was all too easy to slide behind him, to let his hands rest on the other man’s shoulders. Banner flinched.

Although he leaned into it, Banner remarked with a “Not a good idea, Tony.”

Loki let his thumbs press where the scientist needed them.  

A rough breath was his reward. A gulp. The glasses are placed to the side. “Not here, at least?”

A smile. Mischief? Letting touches linger. More pressure to work the tightness out of muscle. He had done the same when Thor had started his training and he was too young, too small to even think of joining him. He had not known enough magic to make up for his deficits yet. And Thor would be so excited from his training he wouldn’t complain until hours later that his muscles ached.

He had learned to prevent a good deal of complaint by proactively tending to his brother when he returned from the training fields.

Banner has a white knuckled grip on the desk.

Slowing down, easing up. Not stopping, but the fear burned low in his stomach. “Banner?” If he had to make a hasty retreat, he would.

“Loki?” He sounded confused.

“You aren’t looking well.”

He shook his head. “Fine.”

A bit more pressure. Down his spine.

A sharp intake of breath as his head fell forward.

“Still fine?”

“Yes. I just…I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“People knowing what I am and not being afraid of me.”

He continued his touches. Banner was putty in his hands. You could feel the stress radiating off of him, mental and physical. He needed this. He was slumped forward, his arms resting on the desk now.

Loki pulled, pressed, rubbed until the boneless doctor sighed. He clapped a hand on his shoulder, “I shall leave you to your work.”

Banner rubbed his face before slipping his glasses back on and returning to his screen. 

Stark was more entertaining to watch.

 

 

 

He was on the captain’s floor, sprawled on the couch. He had come for companionship and found it deserted.

The television droned on, explaining battles of this country. It was informative.

 

“History channel? Really?”

He was hiding a limp with ease. Bandages peeked out from where the sleeves have been taken off of a SHIELD-issue shirt and a purple-red bruise was forming on his cheek.

He lowered himself onto the cushions and glared at his shoes.

Flakes of mud still clung to them from whatever far-off locale the assassin had been sent to. Someplace dangerous, if the damage to him and the way the Widow worried were any indication. She would never admit it, of course, but one could catch her counting the hours and thinking. While she was never too talkative, she had been quieter during his absence. His return would improve her mood.

He squirmed on the seats, trying to find a comfortable position.

Loki knew the man could wait for hours in uncomfortable poses for a good shot, perhaps this was how he relaxed. 

He leaned forward to undo the laces. He tried to conceal a grunt and failed. He tried to play it off as shifting position again. It may have worked on some people. Less observant ones.

They were so breakable…

“You’re going to get dirt all over the captain’s things.” Loki donned a disapproving tone and was at Clint’s feet in one smooth movement. The mud cast away, the laces plucked loose.  “No thought for his possessions. You are lucky that it was me who caught you, or do you not recall how mortified he was when he spoke of his charcoals?” Barton was like Stark, he would rather have criticism than concern.

Barton left his shoes on the ground and pulled his feet up.

Loki returned to his spot on the other side of the couch. Stories of bloodshed in far-off jungles might not be the best option. “The narrator for this program is so dull. What else is available?”

Put him in charge again; rely on him to introduce you to the culture. Do not take anything he says as pure truth, but listen.

Then end up viewing what Barton calls ‘reality TV’.

It certainly was a window to the culture. Mindless drivel, horribly fake.

 

A few more shifts in position from the other side of the sofa and Loki ended up with the other man’s feet in his lap, crossed at the ankle. His head rested against the back of the couch, his shoulders against the armrest. One arm slung across his chest. His fingertips might reach the edge of the bandages. His other hand was sandwiched between the cushions. The Widow likely had a weapon buried there.

He closed his eyes.

 “Barton?”

He gets a mumbled, “Just tired. M’fine.”

The man fell asleep with his feet in the lap of someone who had tried to conquer his world.


	24. Chapter 24

He was invited to the Captain's floor. The only competition for his time was Stark’s technology. Thor was with the woman, and Stark and Banner were toying with their science.

There were pizzas. There was the analysis of recent fights with one more person’s input.

The Captain made a reference, and for once got to be the one to explain it. When that didn’t work, he offered to show the film in question.

The sequel had come next.

 

Panic. His hands were trapped and he needed them to fight. He struggled and ended up a tangled up heap on the floor.

Hurried footsteps and soft words were background noise.  

A hand on his shoulder. On his feet in a heartbeat, a broad chest as good of a place as any to bury his face in. The embrace was safe.

His heart stopped rushing through his ears. The things that should not be that lingered in the edges of his thoughts and threatened to drag him back under slowly disipated.

He could not be touched, he was protected.

“Thor?” He mumbled.

“Steve.”

He started to pull away. The other man kept a loose grip on him. Nothing binding. Just enough to have it known he wasn’t opposed to such contact.

“You watch over your teammates like this?” The crocheted afghan was a pile on the floor.

“Yes.”

“Why tend to me?”

“You eat with us, relax with us, live with us, and fight with us. If that doesn't make you one of my team, I don't know what does.”

 

 

 

He had gotten into the elevator for a trip down to the labs. Things were always interesting there. When the door slid open somewhere around Barton's floor, he didn't think a thing of it. Two people getting on from his level, one of whom was in heels, was nothing unusual.

The silence, however, was.

When Loki looked up from the Starkpad in his hands, he met the calm gaze of a man he had killed, then the angry glare of a woman all the news reports told him was Miss Pepper Potts.

As the door slid shut the numbers told him that this was, in fact, the level just below Barton's.

Well, it was too late to don his usual quick and easy disguise.

He put on a smile instead. "Heading down?"

 

When they got off the elevator in the labs, Tony glanced up from a series of blueprints. 

"In my defense, this was Thor's idea."

Pepper took a deep breath. "Tony. You can't just let a crazy murderer stay in the tower because Thor brought him home like some sort of stray cat."

"We never put limits on who people brought over before."

"Yes, but those people didn't kill people."

"Actually-"

"No, Tony. Do not even _think_ of comparing this to Steve or Rhodey having some guys over for poker." 

 "It's not like he's killing people while he's here! And what was I supposed to do, ask your permission?"

"Yes." Both Pepper and Coulson respond at the same time. Though where her tone is one of carefully reigned in worried annoyance his is more patient amusement.

"I don't know how you thought you could hide something like this from me-"

Agent Coulson chuckled. At Loki's raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "I'm used to Stark not telling me anything." 

"I wasn't really hiding anything, It was more of a don't ask, don't tell sort of situation."

Her hand goes to her forehead. "Tony. Just... please, _please_ tell me that that was not your way of telling me you're screwing the supervillain."

"Oh, Come on! Why would I-"

"Last November. Madame Masque."

"That was one time!"

Coulson turned to Loki. "This is getting personal. We should probably go."

"That was _not_ one time, that was eight times, and I walked in on two of them."

 

The next lab down was as good of a place as any.

Loki sat on one of the stools by a workbench. "Am I to be taken to SHIELD?"

"The Avengers are sort of interesting, legally speaking. While SHIELD was responsible for the initiative originally, things have sort of...shifted in the time since the invasion. We don't get the final say on what happens to persons or entities currently on the Avengers roster; including temporary, reserve, and probationary members.

"I have qualified as a temporary member over the course of two conflicts?"

"Three, you were listed as a non-combatant when you helped Barton. And the paperwork for Little Boy Blue to be granted probationary status was submitted by Stark less than five hours after the first public appearance. Of course, it looks like he left out a few things."

"I killed you."

The man just shrugged. "It happens."

 

When the elevator doors slid open, Pepper stood there with the grace of a queen and the fury of the valkyries behind her smile. "Phil, our reservations are in twenty minutes." 

 

 

 

Golden eyes. Possessing, owning, controlling. Unable to fight against that glare for long. He wants, and he whispered these desires beyond the edge of blue. They glow like a beast’s in the dark, those eyes. Like a cat's or an owl's or a dragon's. Something with claws and teeth that you never heard until it was much too late to run.

He wants the cube, he wants destruction, he wants worlds to fall before him. He wants glory; he wants pain. He wants the universe to bow to him for her.

Her.

Dozens of words echo shadows and images flicker.

HER.

The Lady Death.

“He wants her.” And voicing it made it real. Voicing it put it out of his head, his mind, his thoughts that were so easily clouded with lies. 

He sat up in the bed. He needed to get up. He needed to think. He needed to find a way to make that thing pay. 

He was up and pacing, debating how urgent the message was. He needed to tell Thor, but Thor wasn't _here_.

Perhaps it was telling, that Thor was the first he thought of when in a pinch, never Odin or Frigga.

He hated him sometimes, he did. He thought his brother was stupid and rough. His jokes were never funny and he looked at things all wrong. Thor was predictable and he should hate him, he should. But it was hard to hate anyone completely and even harder to hate Thor. Thor was _his_ idiot. He was rough and predictable because he threw himself fully into whatever he believed in, even when it was a bad idea.  Even if he only got a knife in his side for his troubles. He was optimism and loyalty and sunshine. He was a prince, a hero. And of course the kingdom loved him. Of course he was the favorite.

He was Loki’s favorite, too.

 

He walked lightly on the tile of the Captain's kitchen. He had to formulate a plan and it felt like a suitable setting. The location's owner should be the first to know. He led these people.

Thor should be the first to know because he had to know. It made all the sense in the world, even though there was no reason to it. but it would be a terrible decision.

When there was opportunity, Thor would charge in. There had to be plans in place for when he did.

Thor would not fight alone.

He never had.

The coffeepot percolated in the background. He felt cold. He knew that it was all in his head, he had never felt such a thing in his life, but he needed the grounding heat between his palms.

Stark had connections they would desperately need.

Thor would have to be the voice for these plans to those in power of Asgard, but Stark would be the one to play puppeteer for Midgard. They would ensure the safety of the realms when the mad titan came to claim this place. When the heroes were to be culled and the ones whom he now had to count among his allies fell. Should Midgard fall, Asgard would be next, for they would die as valiantly as any other.

And it would be because of Loki that everything would come to ruin.

That was what he did according to the myths of these people, wasn’t it? Bring about the end in a reign of war, a rain of blood and fire?

“Bag of cats acting up again?”

He waved the intruder away; he didn’t have the time for talk when everything was still so uncertain. “He wants everything.” He whispered the words and shook his head. No, not everything. “Everything Death can touch.” Better, truer. But there was still no chance of stopping the slaughter. Not when that was what he wanted most.

“Loki?”

Who knew how long they had here before the illusion of victory was shattered and the world fell to pieces? How long until that thing overcame the setback of the tesseract not being his to use? He didn’t have such a clever tool anymore, at the very least that would have to slow him down.

Failure wasn’t always the worst thing.

When he went to turn a hand on his chest stopped him. The other man studied his expression. Met his eyes. Even shielded by the glasses, the concern was obvious. “You remembered something that’s got you spooked.”

 “Oh, yes.” 

And if the first person he told of this solid memory was the one who may have helped save the entire universe by slamming a god into a marble floor, who could fault him?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized when i went to add the pepper and coulson parts that i haven't really written them like ever.  
> So yeah.


	25. Chapter 25

By the crack of dawn, everyone of importance had found their way through the kitchen. He had shared with them the information they needed to know, though not nearly everything. It was leverage he would likely never need to utilize, and yet he _needed_ to have it. He needed to have something that would make him useful to them should they grow weary of him or should he misstep and commit some taboo. All he had were his own power and information and while both had their limits he would never underestimate the value of even the smallest scrap of knowledge.

He had, admittedly, not taken into account all of the factors involved with fighting alongside heroes.

 

There had been a girl, a young one.  One with far too much time on her hands and far too many people she wanted to make suffer for wronging her.

One ancient tome of knowledge later, creatures from some other far-off locale that may or may not be another dimension were trying to attack adolescent females. They tore into cars and buildings to access their targets.

They were lithe things, all long muscle and sleek fur. They moved like shadows, like water, like snakes, and struck with claws that shredded metal like paper. When they opened their mouths to pant, or draw more scent in, or possibly just to intimidate, they revealed rows of yellowing, jagged teeth. Their muscled shoulders were broad, with tendons and bone shifting beneath the skin. They had far too many eyes, and they never blinked at the same time, so the ember-orange irises and feline slits were a constant presence. Thick saliva that resembled that of a dip tobacco user in color dripped from their mouths.

They were immune to fire; the flames didn’t catch on the oily-looking coat. They moved too quickly for the creeping frost to cling to them. Lightning worked. Well-aimed shots to the spot where hip joined torso took them down permanently, as did a snapped neck. Stark had discovered that fact when one had attempted to bite his arm and he had wrenched it back at the same time the Captain’s shield had caught it across the chest.

He had managed a good knife throw on one, two others had been tackled to the ground and had their heads twisted until the audible crack. Loki was on top of the corpse of one when another came out of nowhere. Only pure luck had enabled him to move just before it struck. The dodge had only made those teeth sink into his shoulder rather than his throat. It dragged him off of what may have once been its pack mate. The stunned “Oof” made the earpiece Stark had forced on him before he had entered the fight request a status report.

“Fine.” He muttered as he struggled for a hold amongst the teeth. Small slices to the sides of his fingers were nothing compared to the sound torn from the beast’s throat when the jaw gave way. He allowed it a moment of agony before snapping the neck as a cruel grin twisted his mouth.

He killed four more before the throbbing in his shoulder became impossible to ignore. The familiar sensation of flesh knitting together had been replaced by heat and a throbbing pain.

His heart threatened to beat out of his chest, though he had not encountered any of the creatures in minutes.

When it became hard to swallow and the world threatened to upend itself beneath his feet, things clicked into place. He checked the placement of the device in his ear before he spoke into it. “They are venomous.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, and he knew Thor would be able to hear it even if the others did not. “I repeat, do _not_ allow yourself to be bitten. They are venomous.” It was a hint of a slur, as though his tongue was nearly succeeding in keeping up with him but falling just short.

He eyed the area before taking a place on the curb. He had to do damage control.

He had to calm down. Every beat of his heart spread the poison further.

Thor landed heavily beside him.

His veins burned like fire. “Perfect.” He scoffed.

“You were bitten.” His hand stretched to pull the fabric away from the wound. Blood darkened the green fabric.

“Yes, I’ve noticed.”

His grip on the nape of Loki’s neck was grounding, cool to the spreading inflammation. “What is to be done?”

“In a perfect world, such information would not have been a revelation and one with experience handling these creatures would have had the antidote ready to administer. Less ideally, I would be taken to a skilled healer. With things as they are, I believe I will need to simply endure it. Few poisons in the realms would end me, so let us hope they are from the realms.” He smiled. It was better to put Thor at ease. Should he think Asgard would be better, he would likely return him there to save his life.

“And where are you to suffer through such a trial?”

He squeezed his eyes tight. The pain was bearable, but deeper than he could fully control. He slowly released his breath. “I haven’t the slightest.” He couldn’t _focus_. Not like he needed to. 

“Brother?”

The fire was consuming him. “Quiet, Thor.”

 

Torn to pieces as flesh repaired and died in equal measure, then unequal measure as the skin started to rot off of his bones.

 

The vehicle pulling up was a blur, as were the voices urging him to his feet. The hand on his back was clearly not Thor’s, but he could not recall who it belonged to. Not an enemy.

He clung to the hand in his.

It was confusion and pain and he couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe. He needed to tell them. He had information and they _needed_ it. If he died, if Thor took him back, if he lost his voice from this, they would never know. They had to know. Everything depended on them knowing.

So he handed over the last thing he possessed.

Worse than fire. Fire eventually extinguished and this was everlasting.

He saw things, felt things all over again. Scenes that were from the past. Others that may have never happened.

The hand in his was gone, if it was ever actually there to begin with.

This was real, wasn’t it? The pain was real, the pain was _always_ real. Even when the reality of the world was in question, there was certainty to be found in agony.

There were small breaks not unlike glimpsing a scrap of seaweed in a crashing wave. Concern and empty promises appeared only to be overwhelmed by frothing surf.

Unending heat. Nothing could be done for it.

Cold hard flatness under his back. Hands bound. Moving his head and feeling the pull of stitches.

No

Ache down to his bones. The taste of blood rested on the back of his tongue. He pulled on his bonds and they held fast.

No

A quick series of desperate yanks did nothing. His hands were wrapped and stinging, he couldn’t _feel._

No no no

“Are you done?”

And the mockery was more familiar than the voice. The sound from his throat was undignified. He pulled, squirmed.

No

“If you don’t snap out of this soon, Thor’s going to break something.”

Realization. The ceiling above his bed was unfamiliar. “Barton. Release me from my bonds.”

The archer rose from his seat. “If you wreck any more things after I cut you loose, it’s coming out of my paycheck.”

“Release me.”

The cuffs were undone.

He rubbed his wrists.

“Sorry.”

“What did I damage to require them?”

“Two beds. A wall. Some equipment. Thor.” He counted them off on his fingers.

“Thor?”

“He held your hand. Well, he tried to. After he was burnt twice and you broke his thumb, Cap told him he had to let go. I took over the watch after he left.”

Thor would not leave from physical discomfort. “I said something to make him go.”

“You said a lot of things. Cap’s disappointed you kept secrets.”

Damn.

“He should be back soon.”

He brought his hand up to his shoulder. Still swollen, but healing. “And how long was I babbling like a madman, exactly?”

“A few hours.”

“I had expected a lengthier time under its effects.”

“You were bleeding. A lot. And twitching. You could have died.”

“Unlikely.”

“Bruce was worried about permanent brain damage.”

He had a moment of introspection. “I appear to have retained all of my faculties.” The cuffs hung from the thin metal rod that formed a railing around the bed. The cord holding them to the metal made it clear that they were just a last-minute addition.. “Where am I?”

“A secure medical facility. There aren’t a lot of people who would recognize your face, but one bad picture would give us a publicity nightmare to deal with. You need to save at least a dozen more kids before we consider releasing that fun fact. Some more civilians wouldn’t hurt. Oh, and cops. The public really likes it when you save cops.”

He moved the railing down to swing his legs over the edge. The pale blue clothing clung to him in all the wrong places.  “I would return to the tower. Am I to attempt to do so in my current state, or is transportation to be arranged?”

“You aren’t going anywhere until they say you can leave.”

“And who is ‘they’?”

“Well, Bruce sort of took the lead on this one. I think he is on the books as your physician. Cap’s technically your commanding officer, Tony’s your supervisor, and Thor’s your next of kin. And if Tasha came in here right now and said you were leaving, I wouldn’t fight her on it. At this point, ‘they’ is pretty much anyone but you.”

He sighed. “I could fight you and leave.”

“You look like hell.”

The echoed words made him smile.

“You sure you’re okay? I was expecting you to insult me back.”

“Surely suffering through life with such a visage has caused you more pain than I could deal with a few petty words.” He could wait.

 

“...Did you just call me ugly?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my lokigetshurt chapters always seem to be longer. I don't know what that says about me. I may have to do this from a different pov for the next chapter?


	26. Chapter 26

Bruce walked in with his face buried in information and a vial clutched in his hand. He nodded at Clint without really looking at him. When he glanced up and saw Loki with the hint of a smile still on his lips, the first thing he said was “Well, I just wasted the past two and a half hours.”

“If it is any consolation, I hadn’t expected to progress so quickly either.”

Banner hmmed and placed his things to the side. He took measurements of heart rate, blood pressure, pupil reactivity, and reflexes. Being poked and manipulated was nothing if it meant he could return home.

When had the tower become ‘home’?

Steve entered the small room carrying several small cups of steaming coffee. “It worked?”

“No. He didn’t need it.”

“You’re alright?” Steve waited for his nod before letting the disappointment and anger show. “You were keeping secrets.”

It had been too much to hope for a delay in this discussion.

“Why?” There was hurt there. He was too easy to read.

His answer would not be satisfactory.

“If you lie to me, you’re going straight from here to a cell.”

Loki looked at the bandages on his hands. It was easier than seeing the Captain’s open expression. “To ensure my worth.”

“What?”

“Thor’s loyalty is charming, but there is nothing keeping me in this realm but the words of men who should know better than to rely on emotion. I am a liability, and without something to bargain with, I am not even that. Being a liability is preferable to being worthless.”

“You thought we’d throw you to the wolves if you weren’t valuable?”

He shrugged. “It is a reality that I have accepted.”

“Not here, it’s not. I don’t know how things work in Asgard, but if you’re working with us it’s not about what you can be used for.”

“And had Thor brought me here in a way where I were powerless? Were I unable to aid in your fights, you would extend your arms and home to me?” He huffed a laugh. “Had my mind been reduced to nothing, you would have permitted me to remain? You had use of me, or I would have been sent back before now.”

“I never told you to fight with us. You chose to do that. Turning down someone who could fight like you would have been a bad move. You want out? Then don’t show up the next time the alarm goes off. But don’t act like you were bullied into this.”

“The whole ‘you have outlived your usefulness’ idea _is_ more of a bad guy thing here. Just saying.” Clint offered from his perch. It broke the tension well.

Loki sighed in a exaggerated fashion and allowed his expression to shift into something less confrontational. Arguing would get him nowhere, but other approaches had potential. “I would not ask you to go without my assistance simply because our realms have different ways of viewing fighters. Am I permitted to continue aiding you?”

“Anything else you want to tell me?”

“I will likely continue to misplace your motivations.”

“Yeah. I’m starting to get that.” And for the first time throughout the exchange he seemed to truly relax.

 

Thor was retrieved from the roof, and once the weather cleared they were in a dark vehicle headed back to the tower. Thor kept stealing glances. It was obvious there were things he wished to discuss without others present.  

The buildings and people passed by outside of the window. The city seemed so much larger when viewed from this angle.

The Black Widow was in the lobby awaiting their return. She took in everyone with a long look before giving a quick nod. “Welcome back.”

 

The ride up took an eternity.

The room felt like Thor. It wasn’t in the décor, though the messiness did help to mark it as his. No, it was something unnamable in the air.  It was the scent of spring, the feel of static, the warmth of candlelight. It couldn’t be any more obvious when contrasted with the cool sterility of the hospital.

Thor placed Mjölnir onto the floor and sank into the couch. His words were slow and offered no argument. “I will always come when you call.”

“I know.”

“You had doubts.”

“The words of one crazed with poison.”

“The words of one who thought himself on the brink of death, of one who was confessing to his friends.”

“I was not going to fall from something so petty, though hiding information has complicated things.”

"Have faith in them."

It was not as bad an idea as he would have once thought. 

 

Stark emerged from his lab three days later with brand new top-of-the-line body armor for Loki, Steve, and Clint, a potentially Hulk-proof communications device, and a new modification to the Widow’s Bites.  


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i borrow from Myth!Frigga for this bit, with the whole premonition thing. Umm. Yeah.

A meteorological disturbance above the tower. A freak thunderstorm in July was not unheard of, though Loki and Thor exchanged worried glances.

This was it. Asgard was searching. Asgard _knew_. It had been good while it lasted, but now he was going back. He waited for the end.

He could fight, it appeared that Thor intended to. Steve had his shield within reach. Stark wore his bracelets to call his suit. They had fought Thor for him, and they intended to do battle with an Asgardian for his sake again. 

He would not let them fight. 

He would go peacefully, with a smile on his face and an air of power.

He would _lie_.

Things could get worse, or they could be better. It did not matter. He had told the heroes what was to come. He had put them on the right path to fight the dangers that lied ahead. He could wait. In the grand scheme of things, what were a few centuries?

Shoulders back, chin up. A mask of pride and indifference. Feel the power of the world and be prepared to channel it to prevent more bloodshed. Think of it as diplomacy. Of helping the rulers, the true defenders of this realm. Not sentiment.

Be cold and monstrous and beyond such childlike things as concern for allies. Blue. Cold and definitely wrong. Walk as a prince of monsters if you are to go. Flaunt it and make it impossible to deny.

The lightning clapped, the winds were blinding.

 

Blinking past the dust and grime, he was able to see a figure. A lone figure, what were they planning? Perhaps they were expecting the assistance of the Avengers. That was good. Asgard and Midgard could remain on good terms.

The dirt settled and the skies cleared as quickly as they had darkened.

Strong, smooth strides closed the gap between them.

Her dress was regal, her hair blown loose from the whipping winds. Her fingertips nervously clutched a scrap of fabric. She wiped her eyes, but a smile turned her lips. The grace she always held could not be ruined by a few tears. The cloth was tucked into a billowing sleeve. She pouted, looked him up and down.  Slowly, her hands connected behind his neck and she pulled him down into an embrace. “My son.”

He allowed himself to be pulled down, falling to his knees as she held him close. His face was buried in her chest. He clutched the back of her dress as blue flesh turned pink once more.

“My little boy.” And her words were so grateful it hurts.

 

“So I take it we’re not going to be fighting aliens today? You seem to be fine, but I have no qualms rescuing you if she’s an evil witch or something…”

Stark didn’t do scenes like this. Loki smiled, pulling away. He couldn’t look her in the face, not yet, but he could look to the team. “No fighting today.”

“Good, I think. You guys want to join us we’ll be around.” He headed back inside. “Come on, Cap.”

Thor seemed torn.

Tony whistled, “You, too.”

 

Loki took her to Thor’s level. There was wine chilled there. It was not much of an offering to set before a queen, but it was something. He poured two glasses, and they sat on Thor’s couch. She seems taken aback by the softness of it.

She wiped her eyes again. 

“I take it you are not here to explore what this realm has to offer?”

She sighed and it was a patient thing.

He handed her the glass. “Have you come to take me back?”

“No!” and the force of it, the shock and disgust, was surprising.

“Then why are you here?” He took a sip and it was so bitter compared to what home had to offer. He would have to speak to Stark about other varieties. If there was one thing Midgard did well, it was offer variety.

“There is too much uncertainty where this place is concerned, where you are concerned. So many small choices… You have been dead and alive so frequently I could not tell anymore which one was the truth. I mourned and rejoiced in the span of a single heartbeat. You’ve faded from my sight more and more often since…your fall. Then you were in the dungeons and life slowly turned to death, but there is purpose in what your father does, there always is, and I could not turn against my husband for fear of things that may have been."

She had attempted to peer into the unknown for him.

"The dreams were terrible. You escaped and slaughtered everyone, you escaped only to die alone, you escaped and married a farmer and led a peaceful life, you escaped and fled to other realms, and you escaped and destroyed other realms. You helped Surtur, you sacrificed yourself. You were old and a woman and a child and  _none_ of those.” 

At best, she would have been shown possibilities. Countless numbers of possibilities had she attempted to focus.

“You have killed your brother, killed his allies, killed enemies, and killed yourself more times than I can measure. You died from the landing, you died in their care, you fell to the wrath of heroes, you were a victim of misplaced vengeance. There have been plans and accidents and twists of fate no one could have prevented, but did not happen due to any of a myriad of choices made long before they could.”

It was a dangerous branch of magic to dabble in, and this wasn't the first time she had risked her sanity by immersing herself in it. 

“I told myself that as long as things kept changing that you would be fine. There is nothing I can ever do, as things change the moment I act. I lost sight of you. Though it was only for a moment, I needed to be certain. Heimdall agreed to place me here to speak to my son. I feel that he took that to mean Thor, and who was I to correct him? He need not know the personal business of the queen.”

“He hasn’t spotted me, then?”

“I do not believe he has been looking so closely.”

He gulped and nodded. Laced his fingers together. There was never the need for lies with Frigga, no need for masked thoughts. She would see through them in a heartbeat. 

"The previous guards never arrived for thier shifts, and in the chaos of finding suitable replacements certain documents appear to have gone missing."

“So I am safe here?”

“You know the answer to that more than I do.”

No. Not at all. He bit his lip.

She reached a hand towards his, but drew back before they touched.

He didn’t have to be good at reading people to see the guilt. The unasked question of “ _is this alright_?”

She had known. She had seen what was to befall him in the cells, had seen his torture-pain-death, and done nothing. Because of a faith in Odin and commitment to being uninvolved in what futures she saw. He could have died because she trusted a man who was better at deception and tricks than the god of lies himself. He could kill her, strike her, scream at her, whisper words that would cut so deeply. Had she seen those choices played out before her? Had she expected any of them, all of them?

He wanted to hate her, but could not bring himself to.

He met her gaze, and saw the veiled sadness there. Her hand lifted to brush his cheek and he leaned into it. It was being a child again, young and helpless. Monsters in the shadows under the bed and Thor calling him foolish for believing in them. Alone and scared and not even realizing it until she came and the loneliness was gone. Too small to do anything but trust in her.

Her thumb came away wet.

 “Are you happy here? Do they treat you well?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And you treat them well?”

“I try to.”

  


Her visit was not long. She ate with the team, spent some time with Thor, and went to the roof to call for Heimdall.

She hugged each of them as only a mother could.

"You could be the ruin of this realm, or one of it's saviors. Choose well, and look after your brother."

  


He would be a fool to argue with her.

 


	28. Chapter 28

He fought with them, lived with them. It was hours, days, weeks, but not enough time had passed. Not nearly enough time for the proper precautions to be taken, for the right people to be in the right places, for the world to be ready.

It was far too early, when the sky opened up.

It was a tear in the realms forced apart by the whim of a single being, the very fabric of the world ripped like paper.

 

Creatures, mindless soldiers stolen from their own worlds made mechanized and wrong poured through the gash in the clear sky.

The fighters of this realm beat back the hordes. Days of fighters surging through a growing gap.  It no longer mattered where they had come from or what their intentions were outside of this scenario, they fought with everything they had to offer. Shifts were set up, putting a stream of people through the tower, the Baxter building, and the couches of friends, family, and former enemies.

Constant fighting and evacuations. Destruction and chaos on a scale that could not be dismissed as a simple skirmish. What had happened before, the battle of New York, had been just that, a battle.

This was war.

When the mad titan descended from the heavens like yet another myth made real, blood darkened asphalt.

The weary fighters only had to hold out a while longer.

 

They were away from the action. Not far, as close as they could be without revealing everything.

‘They’ being a group of people capable of forming a cage for a beast, a place from which he could not return, an inescapable trap.

There were not many with such skills, but there were enough. The more powerful of them were a man in a metal mask and a sorcerer supreme, but the young man with wild dark hair keeping a steady mantra under his breath had so much potential. Others trickled in with glimmers, sparks, and forces of nature.

They were a crowd, artists creating and manipulating, clashing and blending, experts in their crafts and novices creating something better than anyone could imagine.

Loki weaved the strands together as only one who had been raised viewing such an art could. They were the strings, and he was the loom.

He added, combined. When one could no longer bear the strain and another took their place, he kept it seamless.

The pocket dimension was a masterpiece.

 

The fall of Thanos was a whisper that spread.

Rulers from the distant corners of the universe gave their thanks. Some came in person.

Stark made a good host. Or, rather, Pepper Potts was excellent at organizing events that would impress foreign dignitaries and Stark was charming when the situation demanded it.

 

Asgard arrived unannounced, in the night, the following Tuesday.

It had been easy to throw a celebration. Easy to avoid a king.

For a while.

Odin had cornered him when he had gone to fill his glass.

“You have done well here.”

“Yes.” Brief, polite.

“They welcomed you?”

“Yes.” This was not the time or place for discussion.

“Your stubbornness may have served you well, then.”

He savored the burn from the alcohol. “I…don’t follow.”

“Had you sought help sooner, you may have had a harder task before you when you sought forgiveness.”

“Who is to say that I am forgiven?”

Odin’s short laugh was familiar, the same as when he attempted to teach Thor strategy and Thor had made a childish mistake. “For all their claims of being above such things, the path of suffering and blood is always the quickest.”

“And were I to have perished?”

“They were overzealous, yes, but they would not have _killed_ you.”

He met Odin’s gaze and refused to look away.

“There were contingencies in place for such an event, but too much relied on your skills and knowledge to discard them so readily. You revealed the threat, it seemed that you should be the one to provide a solution.”

He was still a tool. Above anything else, he was there to serve a purpose.

“Sorry to steal my teammate from you, but we need him to share his side of the fight because Thor is _terrible_ at explaining magic.” Her laugh seemed genuine; the hand on his arm was gentle.

“I am speaking to my son.”

Her smile faded. “I’m sorry, let me rephrase that. He is going to come with me, and you are free to enjoy the party elsewhere.” When he took a step to lead him away, Odin caught her arm.

It could not be more obvious where Thor had gotten his temper. “You dare-”

Her calm shake of the head was unnerving. “Stark does daring. I do what needs to be done.”

“So this is the great Odin I’ve heard so much about.” Nick Fury’s voice shouldn’t have been the relief that it was.

They make an easy escape with the new distraction in place. Clint and an Asgardian playing darts had gathered some attention.

She searched his features and must have found what she was looking for, because she nodded. “Don’t underestimate this team.”

“I am no longer needed.”

“No, you’re not. But we want you here.”

 

He was wanted.

And if his purpose here happened to be acting as a sounding board and listening and rubbing shoulders and being a model for drawings and a brother, he could do that. If he was to fetch items off of tall shelves, offer a hand up, find faults in plans, offer an answer for a crossword puzzle, he could do that as well.

He had a home here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alrighty guys, this is the end of this. I have other things set in the same universe, some of which are shippy. I may post them as well. I'm happy I got this up before Thor 2 came out for me. It's been fun and I love you guys. thanks for sticking with me this long.


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